Mere Mortals
by BA Tanglepaw
Summary: After the events of the Conclave, Ser Sian Trevelyan wonders why she is still alive and why she is the one to bear an unwanted mark. Join her as she seeks these answers, finds love and friendship in unlikely places and ultimately comes face to face with her fate.
1. Prologue - To Whom Much is Given

Prologue: To Whom Much is Given…

9:05 Dragon - Ostwick

Lightning pierced the dark of night illuminating angry, steel-grey clouds over the city of Ostwick. Thunder roared through the sky reverberating through rooftops, its deep throated growls gripping the hearts beneath them with fear and setting nerves aflame. Alley cats and rats alike ran for cover as torrential rain hammered the cobbled streets. Only an intrepid or desperate soul would venture into such a night when others would stay close to home and hearth, fire-warmed and safe.

Cloaked against the squall, a single, lithe form bearing a small bundle and supported only by a tall staff moved furtively among the shadows of the city proper. Occasionally ducking into doorways or under low-hanging eaves to escape the downpour, the form darted to its target destination, pulled the house bell chain and rapped an urgent cadence on the massive red doors of a grand house.

Swiftly one thick door opened to reveal the estate's chamberlain. Bidding the figure enter and fighting the door closed, the bluff, stocky seneschal pivoted to assist his unexpected guest. "Good evening, Valen! It's wonderful to see you! Welcome back to House Trevelyan. What business is so pressing as to bring you out on a night such as this?"

"Well met, Ser Karl." Calmly, a single hand pushed back the rain-drenched cowl and an urbane, familiar voice answered, "It is good to see you too. My visit, however, must be short. I must speak with Bann Aldric posthaste."

Taking in the pale face marked with light sienna vallaslin and the compelling golden eyes fixed on him, the seneschal nodded toward the entry to a nearby room. "You must be freezing. You're welcome to warm yourself in the study. I'll let his grace know you're here."

"Ma serannas. Assure him of the urgency of my errand. I am needed elsewhere and this cannot wait."

The study fireplace blazed with a freshly fueled fire. Valen took a few precious moments to simply stand in the blessed heat. Muttering a quick incantation, his belongings steamed as they rapidly dried in the accelerated warmth. His quick eyes scanned the room and landed on a large empty basket. With careful hands and a gentle touch he deposited the elegantly wrapped bundle he carried into it and placed it near the soft glow of the hearth.

"Valen!" Bann Aldric's deep voice greeted him. Striding toward the elf, he extended his hand and smiled. "It's been far too long. You are most welcome and just in time for dinner! But what brings you out on such a wretched evening?"

Valen clasped the Bann's muscular arm, "Your generosity is as unstinting as I remember, Aldric. Unfortunately, I cannot stay for long." Eyes veiled with sympathy, the elf gestured to the hearth. "I regret that I bear ill news - but I hope what I bring will be a blessing for you." Valen bowed his head, gathering his thoughts, then focused his gaze on the Bann. "I am sorry, my friend. Fara is a year gone from fever. Before her passing, my sister asked that I watch over her legacy, but I can no longer fulfill this duty. My people need me and I must go."

Aldric's eyes filled as the words cut deep. "Fara? Gone? And legacy… what legacy?"

Leading the noble to the hearth, Valen stooped and recovered the bundle. "This – is her legacy." The elf pulled back a corner of the richly embroidered cloth and placed a swaddled baby in his arms. "Her name is Sian. She is Fara's child – and yours."

The stunned Bann gazed at the sleeping countenance of his newly discovered child. The babe slept, undisturbed by being deposited in her father's arms, the noise of the tempest or the presence of either man. Her raven hair gleamed in the firelight. Eyes shut, her long dark lashes lay stark against the pale complexion of her face and her tiny brow seemed knit together in dreamy thought.

"She favors you both – does she not?" Valen softly ventured.

"Indeed," Aldric agreed as he wept and tenderly stroked the child's cheek. "She's beautiful. She has her mother's skin and hair – and apparently my ears… "

"Yes, and your fair eyes as well," Valen remarked with a wry grin. "The children of our unions always favor their human parent's form." Sighing, he continued. "I suppose in this age it is for the best and may prove to be an advantage."

"She never told me. I never knew we had a child. Why? Why did she keep her from me?" The Bann looked up, his temples and jaw glistening. "And – why would your people allow this? Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

The elf searched the man's face. "She knew you could never be together. Fara loved this child as she loved you. She wanted to keep some piece of you, Aldric, at least for a time. She petitioned the Council and because of your kindnesses to us – because of your discreet protection of our people, they honored her request. Fara's intent was that she come of age among my people. When she died, I took Sian in and I have cared for her as my own. But I must go. I brought her to you with the hope that you will claim her and give her a home."

"She is of my blood – and of my love. Of course I claim her, I have no doubt of the truth of your words, Valen." Aldric inspected the child's face, "Does she - is she… a mage?"

"No – she will have other talents." Valen chuckled as he noted the tenderness and concern in the Bann's face. "She carries the blood and spirit of her mother. We have given her as many of the gifts of our kind as can be passed to one so small. Of course, many she will have to grow into without our guidance - for she is not meant to walk the path of my people. But nonetheless, I believe she will find greatness among her father's kind."

"Thank you for bringing her to me. She will always have a home here." Aldric returned Valen's gaze, "And what of you, my friend? You will go with your people. Will I ever see you again?"

"Not in this life. Perhaps in dreams... " Valen vaguely replied, reaching over his back to retrieve the weapon strapped there. "This sword belonged to our father and now belongs to Sian. Give it to her when she comes of age." Then he unclasped an amulet from his neck, "This is my own protection rune. It will give her life and help in the years to come. It is my final gift to her." Gently Valen placed the necklet on the baby's blanket and kissed her forehead. "Dareth shiral, ma vhenan."

"What will I tell her, Valen? … Of you? … Of Fara - of your people?"

"I cannot foresee the future and you now shoulder the responsibility of raising her. You must make that decision, my friend. She carries the blessing of my people – no doubt it will bear her to us in time." Pulling his cloak on, the elf shrugged, then clasped the noble in a brotherly embrace. "Farewell Aldric, may your god bless you and this little one."

As swiftly as he had arrived, Valen took his leave. Aldric watched from the doorsill as the cloaked elf vanished into the darkness and fog of the relenting storm. Quietly latching the door, the Bann returned to the study to begin the task of raising his daughter and mourning for his lost love.

XXX

9:41 Dragon – Kirkwall

Cassandra hated waiting. The Seeker shifted with impatience, her fingers drumming a cadence on the hilt of her sword as a cloaked figure emerged from the crowd at the city docks. Arms lifted and delicately dropped the deep hood to reveal a face she knew and loved.

"Galyan?" She whispered the name as a prayer, her eyes incredulous.

"You got my message! It's good to see you, Cassandra." Galyan stepped forward and opened his arms.

Without a moment's hesitation the Seeker stepped into the warmth and affection of his embrace. The two lingered, then parted. With a gentle touch the mage lightly held her arm and directed her aside.

"It's been too long." Gazing meaningfully into her eyes, he seemed to be staring directly into her soul as a balmy sea breeze ruffled his hair. Sighing deeply, he mused aloud. "When this insanity is over we need to have a long talk."

The years, it seemed, had failed to erase the comfortable short-hand shared by the close friends and sometime lovers. In that single glance, the tone of his voice and the subtle shift of his body, Cassandra perceived his intent and felt her own hopes rise.

Since her elevation to Right Hand of the Divine and his promotion to full Enchanter their duties had taken them far from each other. The few stolen moments of their youthful past were like wellsprings for the Seeker's sanity. She came to rely on the memories of each and every one in the performance of her tasks as the Right Hand. In her daily life and duties she was often called upon to make swift, hard, sometimes violent decisions - to be the Sword of the Divine. But with Regalyan she revealed her softer, caring self, the part that dared to dream of family and a place to call home. In his arms she was no longer a sword – but simply a woman. She allowed herself the fleeting thought that maybe this time he would stay - if only for one night.

Out of habit she drank deeply from his presence, drawing on all of her senses to record every detail for safekeeping. "I would like that." She murmured.

With his staff he gestured toward the open waters of the Waking Sea. "Most Holy knew you wouldn't be pleased with the arrangements for the mages' security so she asked me to step in." Playfully, he added, "Of course, I would do anything within my power to make you happy so I agreed to meet them in Haven."

Lightly Cassandra smacked his arm and snorted. "Clearly. I have been elated that your travels have kept you from me these past years."

An irrepressible grin painted his mouth. "Exactly. I wouldn't want you to think I was easy."

The Seeker could not keep herself from smiling. "Well, I happen to know that you are – easy. But I will let that pass for now." Eyes narrowed she pointedly asked, "Where have you been? If I didn't know better – I would say you smell of wet dog."

"What a keen nose you have!" The mage teased, his eyes twinkling. "I don't suppose you would believe it if I said Antiva City or Starkhaven?"

"Ugh – as childish as ever." Cassandra crossed her arms and fixed him with a mock glare.

"No?" Galyan laughed, then leaned to her and whispered in her ear. "Well – then I will confess that I have been in Ferelden issuing invitations to the Divine's Conclave."

Dropping her defenses, the excited Seeker grasped his upper arms. "Were they accepted?"

Beaming outrageously, he answered triumphantly. "Yes!"

"That is a relief!" Cassandra impulsively pecked his cheek. "Are you able to sta…?"

Pressing his fingers to her lips he stilled her tongue, and as happened so many times upon meeting – dashed her hopes. "Cassandra, I leave with the tide. " Nodding to a well-appointed sloop at the pier, he continued. "My passage is booked on that ship. But, you are attending the Conclave, right? So, I will see you in Haven."

The Seeker cast her eyes to the ground and sighed heavily. "Evidently, that must suffice. Leliana is due back tonight. We will not be far behind you."

Gently, Galyan took her hand and drew her into his arms. "There. See, we both have something to look forward to."

Cassandra noted the sloop's sailors preparing the ship to cast off and realized that their brief visit was swiftly drawing to a close. She felt her heart clench in her chest. "I know you must go. However, I will hold you to the promise of that conversation." Not trusting herself with deeper sentiment, she simply held him, breathing the scent of his robes and absorbing his presence. Tears threatening, she bade him farewell. "Maker go with you. Take care of yourself. I will find you in Haven."

"Seems I must – and He will. I'll see you soon." His eyes danced impishly as he caressed her scarred cheek and placed a chaste kiss on her lips. She heard his faint whisper at her ear as he held her close. "Goodbye, my love." Then, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 1 - Much Will Be Required

_[Author's note: I have shamelessly made use of in-game dialogue that has been liberally sprinkled with my own spin and supplemented by additional, original dialogue. As the story progresses there will be more original conversations and events to further my own design. That being said. I own none of the characters nor will I profit from the use of Dragon Age as it all belongs to Bioware/EA.]_

Chapter 1: …Much Will Be Required

Haven – 9:41 Dragon

Sian regained consciousness slowly. She'd been dreaming dark, vivid dreams of demons and voices aglow in an oily green light. Some of it felt familiar, real – yet she knew it couldn't be. She shook her head in an attempt to fully awaken and eased herself into a sitting position only to find herself face-to-face with a very startled young elf.

"I didn't know you were awake! I swear!" The elf prostrated herself at the foot of the bed, a look of awe painted on her delicate features.

Puzzled by the reaction, Sian sought to put the elf at ease. "Don't worry about it. I only… "

"My deepest apologies! I am Hollis – your humble servant, m'lady."

"Please, rise. You've given no offence, Hollis." Sian assured her as she glanced at her surroundings. Fairly rustic, but well-appointed. The bed she'd just risen from was dressed in fine linen sheets with a soft down coverlet and a feather bed. Easing her legs over the side she began to get her bearings. "Where am I?"

"You're in Haven. You saved us." Hollis looked up, her face alight with adoration. "The Breach stopped growing. Just like the mark on your hand. It's all anyone has talked about for the last three days."

"Right. Haven." Sian considered her left hand. The glow from her dreams was fixed in the presence of the Mark. In its eerie light the events of the last days began to reassert themselves in her groggy mind. She felt a residual throbbing in her head and though the Mark didn't exactly hurt – she felt a stinging rawness about it that was alien and unsettling. "So we're safe?"

Rising, Hollis ventured an answer. "The breach is still in the sky. But that's what they say." The elf backed toward the door, her voice wary. "I'm certain that Lady Cassandra will want to know that you've awakened. She said - at once! I'd best let her know."

Staring, Sian considered the elf's comments and reality pressed into her thoughts. The Chantry dungeon, the trek toward the temple and her role in sealing the rift came to the fore. At the mention of her name, the noble recalled the Seeker, fighting at her side, seemingly immovable in the face of demons and uncertainty. She was clearly the driving force behind their success. "Where is she?"

"She's in the practice yard. She said at once!" Hollis wrung her hands and darted out the door, leaving Sian alone and stunned by the elf's nervous demeanor and hasty departure.

It was disconcerting to seem frightening to the diminutive elf. Tall and muscular, Sian deliberately used her height and skill to intimidate opponents, but she was always careful not to loom over others. Her reputation as Knight-Captain of Ostwick's city guard was one of fairness and gentility. Shaking her head, she made a mental note to try to put Hollis at ease should she happen upon her again.

Reaching up to rub her neck, she also realized that some of her discomfit was due to the strange array of clothing she was wearing. She mumbled as she took in the khaki, gold-adorned, lamb's wool jacket and pants clinging to her body. "These are definitely not mine."

Last she remembered she was wearing the light set of ceremonial armor she'd brought from home to wear at the conclave. She blushed as she realized that someone must have washed and dressed her while she was unconscious. "That might be a question best left unanswered," she thought.

Remembering her own belongings, she searched the room. Her saddlebags hung over a chair in the corner with her sword and scabbard leaned against them. The bag's contents were meticulously folded, freshly laundered and pressed, and lay in neat rows on the nearby table. Her armor, oilstone and other odds and ends were also present as was her coin pouch. Nothing seemed to be missing, but it appeared that someone had looked through her things. It was gratifying that no thief had made off with them, but she wondered who had been in them.

Briefly, she pondered where her sister's belongings might be found. No doubt Brigid perished at the Conclave. He heart washed with sorrow at the thought of her older sister. Brigid, a Chantry cleric, had been confident that an accord would be reached between the Mages and the Templars. Though Sian had been skeptical, she had hoped for at least a détente that would end the growing tension in the Chantry back home and halt the bloodshed throughout Thedas. But, whatever Sian had witnessed in the Temple of Sacred Ashes had dashed all hopes for concord.

Her eyes moistened and her throat tight, Sian deferred her grief and turned to the practicality of the moment. Sighing, she selected her own clothes from the table and changed. As she tucked the tails of her simple white linen shirt into soft, hand-stitched druffalo hide breeches and pulled on a pair of well-polished, black riding boots she felt more like her own self. Her house badge gleamed as she shrugged into her navy wool gambeson emblazoned with her guard rank.

Lovingly, she caressed the bastard sword her father had given her. Perfectly balanced and sharp enough to cleave a hair, that hand and a half sword had seen her through years of service with the guards in Ostwick and even through the darkspawn battle at the gates of Denerim the day the Archdemon was defeated. It was a comfort to sheath it and buckle it to her back.

Her thoughts wandered to looking for Cassandra. Apparently, the Seeker had discovered her to be trustworthy. If she'd been found lacking, her weapon wouldn't have been anywhere close at hand. Absently, she wondered if there would still be a trial. But, one thing was certain, there were still questions about what had happened at the Conclave – questions Sian also wanted answers to as well. Additionally, she needed to get word home to her parents and her brother, Devin, about the events at Haven. Perhaps the Seeker would be willing to get a message to Ostwick.

Sian stepped out of the cabin and squinted into a day bright with the light of the sun reflected from banks of snow. Shielding her eyes, she observed the main thoroughfare packed with people. Before she could blink, her ears were filled with greetings. "All hail the Herald of Andraste!" "Look, she's awake!" "You saved us!" She found herself numbly moving, speechless at the outpouring. They lauded her, cheering and applauding as she passed. Were these the same people who only days before had accused her of the travesty at the Temple of Sacred Ashes? The same ones who cried out her guilt and hungered for her execution?

Amidst the crowded street, she searched the outlying area of the town. She saw row upon row of tents, what appeared to be a smithy shop, and finally a set of pennants that demarcated the practice yard. Feeling a tug to the hem of her jacket, she stopped and turned to see who had done it. A little girl stood in her wake holding a rather lop-sided flower.

"This is for you, Herald. For saving us!" Eyes filled with hope, the child beamed, and offered Sian the precious, but terribly wilted blossom.

Sian stooped to the child. Accepting the token, she made a point of lifting it to her nose. "This smells very nice. Tell me – why did you call me Herald?" Suddenly bashful, the girl looked at her feet. Dropping to a knee, the noble smiled and gently winked. "It's alright – you can tell me."

Charmed, her tiny face reflecting the awe of the throng, the girl whispered conspiratorially. "Daddy says that the Maker sent you to save us and that Andraste was with you at the temple. He says you saved us from the demons."

"I see." Sian was beginning to understand. Gently, she tucked a stray lock of golden hair behind the child's ear. "Thank you for the flower. I will treasure it always."

Gift delivered, the delighted little one ran back to her father and clung to his hand. Sian rose and pivoting toward the practice yard recognized Cassandra, who had apparently witnessed the exchange, watching her with a faint smile.

As the Seeker strode to her side, the throng of people parted easily. "It is good that you've awakened. I am certain you have questions – as do we. I am on my way to the Chantry to meet with Leliana. Will you attend?"

Eager for news, Sian wasted no time with her genteel answer. "Of course. It would be my pleasure." Venturing a jest, she chuckled, "No chains?"

"Unnecessary." The Seeker smiled gravely. "You have more than proven yourself – and your innocence to me. Most Holy cried out for help and you answered bravely."

Cassandra's natural bearing was regal, commanding – a direct reflection of her will and as she ushered Sian toward the main gate to Haven, the people responded to it. They lowered their voices to hushed whispers and backed away from the town path as the Seeker and the Herald moved toward the Chantry. The guards posted on the iron bound entry snapped to attention as the two warriors approached. Upon receiving a curt nod from Cassandra, in unison they heaved the doors open and admitted them. Side by side the women marched through the main hall toward the war room.

Halfway to their destination, Cassandra stopped. She looked pointedly at Sian, her smoky eyes hazed with concern. "Does it cause you pain?"

Though she was uncertain as to why, Sian was gratified by the Seeker's concern. "Do you mean the Mark?"

"I do." The Seeker shifted. "May I see it?"

Sian extended her left hand, palm up toward her companion. "At first – it burned, like holding a hot coal. Now it's like holding a bumble bee. I can feel a buzzing – a slight vibration in it." Marveling at the Seeker's gentle touch as she accepted her hand and gingerly ran her thumb around the faded green light at the center of the faded mark, Sian sighed deeply and continued. "It doesn't hurt, but I am breathlessly awaiting its next unexpected sting."

Cassandra flashed a bitter smile and sighed, releasing her hand. "For you the Mark – for me, the Chantry. But I suppose it is wise to take our victories where we can."

"Indeed it is." Sian agreed.

"What is important is that it is stable – as is the Breach. You've given us time. Solas believes a second attempt might succeed – provided the Mark has more power. But it will require the same level of power required to open the Breach in the first place. That is not easy to come by."

Sian felt a sense of dread at the idea of using the Mark again. Seeking to allay her own fear, she quipped. "What harm could there be in tinkering with the fade?"

"Hold on to that sense of humor. You will need it in the days ahead." The Seeker picked up the pace until the two of them stood before the plank inner door to the war room. "Come. We are almost there. Let us proceed."

Voices raised in anger emanated from within the council chamber. Chancellor Roderick could be heard accusing Leliana of madness and advising her that Sian should be taken to Val Royeaux for imprisonment and possible execution.

"Ugh – he is persistent if nothing else." Cassandra spat in disgust as she passed the doorwatch.

As the warriors entered the chamber Leliana looked up, her face immediately reflecting the relief of not being alone with the quarrelsome Chancellor. Arms crossed, back straight, it appeared that he had been complaining for some time and that she was growing weary of his tantrum.

Immediately turning to Sian, Roderick issued an imperious command to the guards, "Chain her! Make her ready for immediate transport to Val Royeaux for trial!"

Cassandra was in no mood for the Chancellor's foolishness. Her counter-command was issued swiftly and with consummate authority. "Disregard that, and leave us."

Silently and without question the guards fisted their breastplates in salute and obeyed the Seeker. The resounding thud of the closing doors echoed in the stillness before the stand-off.

"You dare to gainsay me?" Roderick glared and bristled at Cassandra. "You walk a dangerous line, Seeker."

"In this case – yes." Lines of tension radiated from the Seeker's eyes as she took him on matter-of-factly. "The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it."

Unwilling to leave Cassandra alone in her defense, Sian piped up. "I did everything within my power to close the Breach. It almost killed me."

"Yet you live. A convenient result, insofar as you're concerned." The Chancellor retorted.

The Seeker growled a warning. "Have a care, Chancellor. The Breach is not the only threat we face."

Leliana moved closer to Cassandra, her brow drawn and eyes fixed on the churchman. "Someone was behind the explosion at the Conclave. Someone Most Holy did not expect. Perhaps they died with the others – or have allies who yet live."

Roderick reacted with genuine surprise. "I – am a suspect?"

"You – and many others!" Leliana asserted.

Shifting like a trapped rat, Roderick sputtered. "Me. But not the prisoner?"

"She is no longer a prisoner." Cassandra's voice resounded with conviction. "I heard the voices in the temple. The Divine called out to her for help."

Insistent, the Chancellor continued to argue. "So her survival, that thing on her hand – all a coincidence?"

In an effort to calm the foolish man, Cassandra tried Chantry logic. "Providence. The Maker sent her to us in our darkest hour."

Head down, eyes closed, Sian recounted the cry in the temple for help. She had survived the explosion and strange events. She did indeed live – when others, including her own sister had not. In her mind there was no reason to believe other than that her survival was for a reason beyond her own ken. Brigid had often quoted the chant to her during times of trouble and the beatitude slipped from her tongue humbly, easily – words fully formed, dropping like water from a fountain. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide."

The Seeker's eyes filled with gratitude and reverent passion as she raised them to Sian. Her voice held warmth as she softly spoke. "We lost everything – then, out of nowhere, you came."

Leliana immediately agreed, her own face soft in the Chantry candlelight. "The Breach remains, and your Mark is still our only hope of closing it."

But theological reason nor practicality seemed to touch Roderick. Unmoved, he escalated his argument. "That is not for you to decide!" He stormed.

For the Seeker, his response was the last straw. Her gullet full, her jaw clenched with absolute conviction, she slammed a book bearing the Divine's Seal on the rough-hewn table in front of the recalcitrant churchman. Her eyes were fierce as she rested her index finger on the seal and took full command of the situation. "You know what this is, Chancellor? A writ from the Divine - granting us the authority to act. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn." The Seeker marched toward Roderick, stalking him like a hunter, backing him toward the doors as she enunciated every word. "We will close the breach. We will find those responsible. And – we will restore order. With or without your approval."

Backed into a corner, Roderick appeared to lose his ability to retort. Shaking his head he left, slamming the door on his way out. Sian watched the Seeker. She could tell that it grieved her to be hard on the man. Raking her fingers through her hair, Cassandra seemed at once convinced of the integrity of her actions, yet conflicted. Regardless, it was done. The Inquisition had been declared and there would be no going back.

Leliana moved to the table, her demeanor etched with gravity. "This is the Divine's directive. Rebuild the Inquisition of old. Find those who will stand against the chaos." She clearly shared Cassandra's convictions, but she also appeared to be troubled by the revelation. "We aren't ready. We have no leader. No numbers. And now – no Chantry support."

The Seeker drew a deep breath, her determination reinvigorated. "But we have no choice. We must act now." Her eyes implored Sian as she continued. "With you at our side."

In a way, Sian felt like she'd fallen into a deep hole. To be part of the Inquisition? A tall order. She'd read the histories and knew that the Chantry had been founded on the bones of the original Inquisition. It seemed a desperate gambit. But, these were desperate times. Leliana, Cullen and most especially Cassandra, believed in her innocence and had succored and protected her. Though divine providence might have been playing a role in the events, Sian had a gut feeling that there was more to it. Taking stock of her own instincts and emotions, she felt a "rightness" about involving herself. At that moment, she absolutely shared the others' convictions. The Breach was an evil thing. It endangered everything and everyone in Thedas. "If you're truly trying to restore order…"

Leliana assured her. "That is the plan."

Cassandra extended her hand and made a final plea. "Help us fix this before it's too late."

Sian would always remember this moment. It belonged entirely to the Seeker. The noble drank in her presence and charisma. Integrity, courage, honor all wrapped in a determined mortal vessel that was all Cassandra. Eyes the color of smoky topaz blazed with passion, reflecting an internal grip as strong as the rest of her physique. But Sian detected more – she'd witnessed the softness around those eyes as the Seeker spoke the Divine's name, saw the fondness in them for the people and her fierce determination to set the world aright. There was a tenderness in her that was utterly irresistible and difficult to deny – love and faith in equal measures. Sian firmly clasped her hand and nodded in agreement. Then Cassandra levelled her with a beatific smile. At that moment, the Herald was ensnared. She knew she'd rise from any ruin just to see that smile again.


	3. Chapter 2 - Days of Haven

Chapter 2 – Days of Haven

As word of the Inquisition began to spread to every corner of Thedas, Sian kept herself busy. Though initially she believed that Cassandra or one of the officers of the Inquisition would give her meaningful tasks, they were caught up in planning, training troops and waiting for messages from adversaries or supporters. Other than brief meetings and short conversations, she was on her own.

Until some word was received regarding a means to reach out to the Templars or Mages, nothing could be accomplished. So, she sought out the armorer, Harritt, and got her armor burnished and repaired. Then, she spent time getting to know the people around her and simply helping when and where she could do so.

After meeting the healer, Adan, she set about finding elfroot and such herbs as grew in the valley below the town to help him build his stock of poultices and potions for healing. It seemed a small thing to offer the cantankerous man for his vigilance during the days she had spent unconscious after sealing the Breach. She hunted to help stock food for the townspeople and refugees pouring into the little village, and found materials for the quartermaster. In the evenings she passed time playing Wicked Grace with some of the soldiers and Varric at the local tavern.

Though Sian had been formally schooled in the Chantry and was well-travelled, she learned a great deal more about a myriad of subjects just by listening. She spoke little but carefully attuned herself to the conversations around her. Most of the people talked of the Herald of Andraste as if she were some otherworldly entity, but some of the villagers and soldiers expressed skepticism and even disdain toward the title and the story surrounding it. Both lines of thought were equally troubling to her.

As the days passed, Sian took to spending her time further and further afield to avoid the commentary. She found peace in the snowy clearings of evergreen forest surrounding the village. Often, she retired to those glades to run through the disciplined sword forms unique to her weapon and style. For a time, the meditative practice would soothe her, but her thoughts always seemed to return to the Mark and the events that led to it.

The Mark had given her no real pain since its last use, but its existence was puzzling. She still wondered how it came to be and how she had managed to survive the blast. She tried not to think about it. But one morning as she wandered the snow covered fields she spied the old bridge to the temple path and trekked over to it. As she stepped onto it, she realized that it was lined with the shrouded corpses of many of the mangled bodies she'd seen in the ruins. Most were completely unrecognizable, so disfigured that identification would be impossible. Yet she knew that somewhere in that mass of mangled flesh, Brigid was present. Every single body was someone's kin, someone who had loved and laughed – who mattered. The Mark may have saved many lives, but the cost seemed very high.

Sian's eyes stung as she thought of her family in Ostwick. She'd asked Cassandra about sending a message and the Seeker told her to speak with Sister Leliana. The composition had seemed an impossible task. How could she begin to describe the events and all that had happened? How could she tell them of Brigid's fate? She knew they would be heartbroken. She sighed as she thought about it. She'd held onto the letter for over a week, but she knew that the time had come to send it.

Carefully, she picked her way up an overgrown path through the back of the village, making her way to the Spymaster's tent. Ducking under a door flap, she saw Leliana on her knees before a small temporary shrine perched on a foot locker and heard her praying. For a moment she regarded the woman. Flaming red-hair, knowing blue eyes – she possessed a delicate beauty that was shrouded in mystery. She turned back, thinking to avoid disrupting the Sister's fervent devotions, but tripped on a tent peg as she reached for the flap.

Leliana leapt to her feet, a throwing knife at the ready. Recognizing the noble, she made it disappear as quickly and inconspicuously as it had been drawn. Her prayers had been laced with piety, but the Spymaster was clearly upset as she addressed the Herald. "You speak for Andraste, no? What does the Maker's prophet have to say about all of this? "

In the days before this same woman had coolly riddled demons with arrows and tenaciously faced down the Chancellor of the Divine. Though Sian knew little of Leliana, she recognized that the outburst was uncharacteristic. "What do you mean?"

"Do you see the sky? What about the temple ruins? The bones lying in the dust? Even if you didn't support the Divine's peace, you wouldn't call this right. Who could? So many innocent lives – the faithful murdered where the holiest of holies once stood. If the Maker wills this, what is it if not a game or a cruel joke?" The Spymaster grew emphatic as her crisis of faith hit a fevered pitch. "The Chantry teaches that the Maker abandoned us. He demands repentance for our sins. He demands it all. Our lives, our deaths. Justinia gave him _everything_ she had and he let her die!"

"I'm sorry. Her death has clearly hit you hard." Sian recently found herself questioning this very thing. She felt for the grief-stricken lay sister.

"Not just me. All of us. She was the Divine. She led the faithful. She was our heart!" The spymaster paced as she continued to vent her rage. Narrowing her eyes, her speech thick, she exploded. "If the Maker doesn't intervene to save the best of his servants, what good is he?"

Sian had studied theology extensively, the youngest of the Trevelyan's once expected that she would end up among the ranks of the Templars, but her own life had deviated from that course. She had admired the Divine and her attempt to bring peace and stability to the Chantry. She wished that she could offer Leliana some wisdom or some encouragement to assuage the darkness, but she realized that this was not the time for platitudes. Instead she made a confession of her own. "It is all hard to understand, Sister. I tried – I wish I could have saved her."

Eyes glistening, her face bitter, Leliana looked at her feet. As she spoke her words were edged with ice. "I used to believe I was chosen, just as some say you are. I thought I was fulfilling his purpose for me, working with the Divine, helping people. But now she's dead. It was all for nothing. Serving the Maker meant nothing."

"Purpose shifts." Sian was uncertain as to exactly where the words had come from, but she knew it was truth. "We are surrounded by people suffering from loss and questioning the Maker. Their solace, the Chantry - is torn apart. I don't understand why I was saved or how I got this Mark. I don't know what it means. But I know it closes rifts and I will use it to save as many lives as I can. Maybe your purpose has changed. Mine certainly has."

Lifting her gaze, Leliana wore a bitter smile. "Now you sound like Cassandra."

"Perhaps. I admire her persistence and her faith. " The Herald gently spoke. "Maybe _you_ have another purpose. I am willing to help you find it."

"No, this is my burden. I regret that I even let you see me like this. It was a moment of weakness, it will not happen again." With a deep sigh, the Spymaster's face shifted back to her customary mask. "You did not come to hear my complaints. What brings you to visit?"

Sian ran her hands through her dark hair. Uncomfortably aware of her own grief and doubts, the words spilled out. "I was hoping you might be able to help me get a message home. My family needs to know what has happened here. I've got to let them know that I've agreed to stay and why, and I need to tell them of my sister's death at the Conclave." With a deep sigh, she continued. "I had also thought that you might be able to tell me how I might find my sister's belongings. Somehow mine appeared in my quarters, but I don't know where to begin to look for hers."

"Of course. I am truly sorry for your loss." The sudden knowledge leeched into the Leliana's face. "I hadn't realized. Your things were all accounted for, yes?"

"Yes. Nothing seems to be missing, except perhaps the travel dirt from my clothes." Sian smiled shyly. "I suspected that I might have you to thank for the kindness."

"It is nothing." Leliana seemed to warm with the appreciation. "I will see what I can do about finding your sister's things."

As Sian began to take her leave, one of Leliana's scouts approached and saluted. "I have a message for you and the Herald." She informed them. "Commander Cullen has organized a strategy meeting in the Chantry and craves your presence."

In short order, Sian found herself neck-deep in conversation with the Inquisition's leadership in the Chantry war room. She'd attended meetings with them, but was customarily silent, taking it all in, listening and watching. They'd considered various strategies for powering the Mark to attempt a permanent closure of the hole in the sky. But ultimately it would take the power of the Mages or the Templars and there was no agreement about which would be best suited. The point was moot anyway as neither faction welcomed a parlay to broach the subject.

Cullen leaned into the war table impatiently. "There's got to be something. Has there been any word at all?"

Lady Montilyet appeared thoughtful as she wielded her candlelit noteboard. "As of yet, neither the mages nor the Templars will speak with us. However, our numbers are growing - due in large part to the ever expanding legend of the Herald of Andraste."

"That's quite a title. How do you feel about that?" Cullen canted his body back and seemed to study Sian.

"It's a bit unsettling." Sian admitted. Uncertainty painted her features as she thought about his question. Her gut told her that she had a part to play, but she felt like a misfit. Only weeks before she had commanded a full garrison of troops in Ostwick and had been sure of herself, of her leadership. She now found herself subject to the role of figurehead. Accustomed to action, she was unsure of her authority and uncomfortable with the worshipful quality of the attention she received.

"We cannot continue to stand in the fire and complain that it is hot." Cassandra scowled impatiently. "We must take decisive action – soon."

Cullen frowned, his handsome features flushing as he replied. "And just what would you have us do? Our hands are tied."

Leliana had begun pacing the moment she entered the council chamber, but now she stopped and looked pointedly at Sian. "Perhaps not. A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak with you. She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I. Her assistance could be invaluable. You will find her tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands near Redcliffe."

"Yes!" Cullen met the idea with enthusiasm. "You could lead a small contingent of troops to escort her back here. It would be an opening to expand the Inquisition's influence. While you're there, you could recruit agents and more followers."

Sian knew her own abilities, but she also knew that the denizens of Haven, the followers of the nascent Inquisition, and even some of those in charge had no idea of them. They'd never seen her lead troops or even discreetly break up a bar fight. How could she be seen to wield authority? "That is a wonderful idea. In theory."

Cullen scratched his head. "What do you mean?"

"You are more than equal to the task." Cassandra immediately took up her cause. "But I believe I understand. You are concerned that they see you as a symbol, not a flesh and blood leader, correct? I have watched. They bow and scrape but do not understand you to be of sufficient rank to give orders."

The Herald nodded a solemn affirmation, relieved that the Seeker so completely understood her concern. "Exactly."

Ever the diplomat, Josephine piped up. "If I may be so bold. I do have a suggestion."

Curious, Cullen encouraged her to continue. "Please, Lady Montilyet, we are all ears."

"An exhibition. A duel with the express purpose of demonstrating Ser Trevelyan's martial skills might prove to be enlightening to the masses. Of course, it would be necessary to make it an event that would be spoken of with great relish." Josephine craftily made her suggestion, with only a slightly flirtatious flutter to her lashes.

The Seeker crossed her arms and snorted, glaring at her colleagues. "Of course. And just who do you propose she duel?"

As one, Josephine, Cullen and Leliana exclaimed, "You!"

XXX

As the sun dropped over the horizon and the sky began to fade to the velvet tones of night, the two opponents stepped to the arming racks at the training field's edge. Sian fixed her gaze on the Seeker's eyes. "Are you certain that you wish to do this with edged weapons?"

"We must." Cassandra replied with conviction and pointed toward the gathering crowd. "You have proven yourself to me, but you must prove yourself to them - and to the forces of the Inquisition. If you do this, you will have their respect and you will wield authority. The threat of shed blood proves the point."

Not entirely convinced, Sian ran her hand through her hair then unfastened her coat and hung it on an empty weapon peg. The gravity of the contest weighed heavily on her mind. Neither she nor the Seeker could afford to look like fools. "I suppose if you insist I will abide by your advice." After rolling up her shirtsleeves, she picked up her weapon and silently vowed that regardless of the outcome, she would not so much as prick the Seeker with her sword.

"You are not wearing even light armor?" Cassandra's eyebrows shot up in surprise, the emblazoned eye on her tabard gleaming in the diminished light as she tested the weight of her shield and unsheathed her sword.

"No." Sian clenched her jaw. "If your wish is a dramatic demonstration – then I am fully committed to the task."

"I will not spare you my best." The Seeker warned the Herald.

Sian grinned as she pulled on her leather gloves. "I would be deeply insulted if you did."

Solas watched the preparations from a distance with a scowl. Violence was a necessary evil – but in truth, he deplored it. Deciding a better view might be prudent he moved to a position near where Cullen, Leliana and Josephine stood. Beside them, a campfire blazed, lighting the bounded area of the match ring. The people of Haven and the entire complement of Inquisition forces crowded around the designated turf, the carnival-like air filled with expectation.

The elf mage watched attentively as Cullen stepped to the center of the match area and announced. "Citizens! Soldiers of the Inquisition! Seeker Pentaghast, Hero of Orlais and Right Hand of the Divine, and Ser Trevelyan, Knight-Captain of the Ostwick Guard and Herald of Andraste, have agreed to the rules of one-on-one combat for the purpose of exhibition. The fight will not end until your judges, that is – myself, Sister Leliana and Lady Montilyet, have decided a clear winner or determined the outcome to be a draw. Feel free to give voice and coin to your opinions on the matter! On my signal the duel will commence." Smartly returning to stand with the Spymaster and the Ambassador, he waited on the opponents to face off.

Solas continued to observe as the duelists entered the ring and squared off. As was the custom, both raised their swords in salute to the crowd, to the judges and then to each other. Both assumed postures of readiness, the atmosphere charged with anticipation.

The mage cocked his head in thought as he considered Sian. She stood with her sleek bastard sword in a single fist held parallel to the ground and just over her head. Her stance was one of a rider on a horse, legs slightly bent at the knee. He smiled as an awareness dawned on him. There was a familiarity about her that he had been unable to puzzle out – but the elegant fighting posture of this particular style cemented the conclusion that had been swimming in his mind since the first time he'd laid eyes on the woman. This would require finesse, but he quickly decided that he would find the time to question the noble more closely with regard to her background. For him, it might explain a great many things.

Cullen raised a clenched fist, then nodding to the opponents, dropped it with dramatic flair. The fighters closed and factions within the gathered throng could be heard cheering them on.

Leliana stood beside the former Templar, arms crossed, weight resting on her back foot, her eagle-eyes poised on the duelists. She watched as Cassandra wasted no time testing Sian's stance. The Seeker's longsword arced in a powerful stroke aimed at the noble's neck that was immediately met with a two-handed parry. An equally testing thrust from Sian met the Seeker's shield dead center. Soon the fight began in earnest – swing, parry, thrust, block, and stroke, evade, bash, block…

To the Spymaster's ears the fight took on a percussive, musical quality, to her eyes it emerged as a dance. Cassandra carried a grim expression and fought with the feral style of a wolf – leaping in with sudden flurries of strokes, blocking with her shield, then leaping away with a taunt. Her every movement was calculated, ferocious and determined.

Sian seemed unaffected by the Seeker's direct challenges. She possessed a leonine grace, flowing with the attacks and producing equally forceful counterstrokes, blocks and thrusts, alternating between one and two-handed positions. She moved with power, accuracy and elegance. Clearly, Cassandra was a master of sword and shield, just as Sian was a master of the bastard sword. Eyes narrowed, Leliana quietly congratulated herself that she had not wagered on the outcome.

Time passed quickly for the audience, but felt drawn out to Sian. As the fight wore on she felt sweat racing at her temples and threatening to stream into her eyes. Her shirt was drenched. The noble did not tire easily, but the Seeker's pressing attacks kept her constantly on the move as voices from the perimeter cheered them on, their names echoing in the starry night.

The crowd soon became loud and restless. Judging from the mood they had made their point. The fight needed to end and they both needed to walk away with their dignity intact and authority established. Neither had drawn blood from the other and Sian didn't want that to happen if it could be helped. In order to end this, she needed to get Cassandra to create an opening. But the Seeker was relentless, her mind and emotions caught up in the duel. The two warriors were well-matched and both were unsparing in their efforts. It was time to take a risk.

Positioned to sweep her sword in a lateral arc, she instead moved into a feint as the Seeker took the bait. Cassandra's face was gleaming with perspiration, her mouth set in a firm line as she stepped into Sian's move. The noble met the momentum with a pommel strike to the Seeker's off-hand arm that caused her to reflexively open her grip. As her shield dropped from her numbed hand, Sian spun behind her, slapped her across the rump with the flat of her blade and leapt clear. The crowd roared.

The slap infuriated the Seeker. Cassandra's expression went from grim to raging as, now shield-less, she pivoted and swiftly began a relentless counterattack. Sian met her press with deft blocks and periodic sweeps that forced the Seeker onto her trailing leg. Both women were breathing hard as Sian saw an opening and suddenly and swiftly rushed Cassandra head-on. Holding her sword in both gloved hands, she drove the flat of the blade against the shocked Seeker's breastplate and bore her to the ground, the sword perilously close to Cassandra's throat, but carefully under her control.

The Seeker's eyes were stormy and her face glistened as Sian's body pressed her to the grass. The assembled crowd went silent. In that long moment, Cassandra blushed as she realized that she was between the noble's knees, their bodies' intimately locked and lips so close they could feel each other's panting breaths. She felt a rush to her loins from the weight and heated contact and the maelstrom of adrenaline from the fight. The connection confused her – and the wound to her pride incensed her. She glared at Sian murderously.

Sian took in the Seeker's defiant countenance and felt the coiled tension in her body. It was high time to stop this. She respected Cassandra and did not want their budding friendship to be tainted with anger.

Glancing down, Sian hoped that the Seeker had not been so lost to emotion that she'd forgotten an age-old trick. She was not disappointed. Cassandra had managed to draw her belt knife and the tip was pressed firmly at the base of Sian's sternum. The Herald felt the sting of sweat in a shallow cut and noted a small blossom of blood adorning her white shirt.

"I think you've ruined my favorite shirt." Sian groaned. She began to chuckle as Cullen, Leliana and Josephine approached and witnessed the placement of the opponent's blades. "Can we agree that this duel is a draw, Seeker?" The noble asked as she gingerly got to her feet and offered Cassandra a hand up.

As the realization that Sian had engineered the outcome dawned on the winded Seeker, she grinned sheepishly. Taking the noble's hand, she rose and still clinging to it – shook it and declared. "It is a draw."

Without delay, Cullen looked to Leliana and Josephine. Both officers nodded an affirmation and he ended the contest. "We have a decision. The judges have confirmed the outcome to be a draw!"

The gathering broke out in cheers and applause mixed with the groans of those foolish enough to bet against either warrior. Coins began changing hands adding the tinkle of money to the aftermath. Varric seemed particularly excited.

Sian glanced at Cassandra hoping that her ire was dissipating. Noting the red tinge to the Seeker's earlobes, Sian mistook its origin. In an effort to stave off hard feelings she extended an apology. "I am terribly sorry. It was all I could think of. We might still be fighting and it would have likely ended with both of us exhausted, possibly wounded and still locked in a draw. I find myself in need of a good, strong drink. How about it? On me?"

Though she was tired and her muscles ached, Cassandra felt her nerves thrum. Glad that Sian did not seem to notice the unexpected flare of physical attraction she'd felt earlier and determined to forget her own confusion, she was far from ready to retire. "Yes. I can think of nothing better."

 _[A/N – A couple of notes. First, thanks to everyone reading, I appreciate the investment of your time and energy. Special thanks to my reviewers. I enjoy hearing from you and reading the feedback you share. Second, Wyles77 has published an incredible story that I would urge you all to check out. The characters are great and it provides a terrific introduction to the world of Burning Suns. It is a free download that can be found at SunTzuGames, under the subheads Burning Suns/Burning Stories.]_


	4. Chapter 3 - Of Home and Hearth

Chapter 3 – Of Home and Hearth

The two thirsty combatants made their way to the tavern amid cheers accompanied by occasional slaps on the back of approval. The mood was high, the atmosphere party-like. Apparently, a good fight was a real morale booster for Haven. Recent events had led to nothing but suffering and hardship and the little village had roiled with tension since the Inquisition had been invoked.

The minstrel was leading the crowd in a rousing rendition of "Andraste's Mabari" as Cassandra and Sian threaded toward a vacant table and managed to settle in. They were no sooner seated than Flissa, the barmaid, delivered two of Haven's finest brews with a flirty wink for the Herald. Puzzled, Sian scanned the bar to see who sent them. Her eyes quickly came to rest on Varric, who graced her with an impudent grin, raised his tankard her direction, then resumed the business of collecting what looked like a fair amount of coin.

Cassandra seemed to be taking it all in, but soon focused her attention on the noble. "How did you know?" She asked before taking a deep pull from her mug.

"How did I know what?" Sian responded blithely after slaking her own thirst, her eyes drawn back to the Seeker from casually watching Flissa as she tended other patrons.

"To force me onto my off leg." Cassandra's eyes challenged with curiosity.

"I've watched." Sian grinned over her tankard and shrugged. "I've noticed that you have a slight limp on cold days and that when you fight you make subtle compensations for weight and balance. I also knew that the only way to end the match was to distract you from it." Her expression was sincere as she continued. "I'm sorry for the ruse – for making you angry. I confess that you were wearing me down. Facing you is a bit like tackling a thunderstorm – never know where lightning will strike next."

"You are a worthy opponent, Lady Trevelyan. I will remember that you are observant." Cassandra raised her glass to the noble and smiled. "In any case there is no need for an apology."

Sian offered a correction with a mock sigh, rolling her eyes playfully for effect. "Seeker Pentaghast, Lady Trevelyan is my mother. Technically, it is proper, but I prefer the title I earned as a knight. Please – call me Sian, and if you absolutely must use a title, it's Ser Trevelyan."

"Very well… Ser Trevelyan." The Seeker tried out the title, the warmth in her voice reaching her eyes and her tongue. "I would know more of you."

Sian studied Cassandra. The noble found it fascinating to watch the landscape of her face change as she engaged the world around her. Often, the Seeker appeared to be stoic, taciturn, but upon closer inspection, it was possible to see fleeting glimpses into her feelings. The more time Sian spent with the woman the better she was becoming at reading her and the more she wanted to look. Unable to resist, the noble subtly baited her. "I'm surprised Sister Nightingale hasn't filled you in. There seems to be little beyond her grasp."

"Without a doubt." Cassandra scoffed as a hint of sarcasm touched her features. Motioning to Flissa for refills she chuckled. "She likely knows what you ate for breakfast six months ago and Lady Montilyet most certainly has your pedigree researched to the origins of Thedas. But we will be working together. I would rather hear it from you."

Delighted at the rise, Sian leaned in, her arms resting on the table. "What would you like to know?"

The Seeker mirrored the noble, resting her head on her folded hands, her smoky eyes lidded with interest. "Tell me of your life before the Conclave."

Sian took a deep drink of her newly arrived beverage and cleared her throat. "Born and raised in the Free Marches. My father, Aldric Trevelyan is the Bann of Ostwick. I have – had…, "the noble stumbled as she thought of her siblings, "an older brother, Devin – he runs the family estates, and two older sisters, Belwyn and Brigid." Sian swallowed the lump in her throat, struggling to keep the emotion from reaching her lips. "Belwyn is a mage in the Chantry Circle. Brigid is… was - a cleric at the city's cathedral. She died at the Conclave."

A wave of compassion passed over the Seeker's countenance, but she kept her peace.

"It's… I'll be alright." Sian assured her, soldiering on. "Our birth-mother died when I was just a small child. I don't remember her, but Father remarried. Our step-mother, Lady Marissa Trevelyan, is a wonderful woman and a good mother. We were truly fortunate. For the most part, I enjoyed my job. Got to put down pirates and catch horse thieves. Occasionally, we'd get an incursion into the Vimmarks, our northern watch, from Tevinter, just to keep us on our toes."

"Do you miss your home?"

"It's really rather strange to say this – but no. Over the years, I've spent enough time on the road that home is… well, it's wherever I happen to be. I lived with my family and we are a tight knit brood. But, that's my parent's home. In an odd way I don't feel like I have a home of my own." No one had ever asked Sian that question and she was surprised at her own insight. "My claim to anything is only valid by virtue of my family name."

"I understand. I have always felt much the same way." Cassandra's eyes sparked as she probed further. "So you have no husband or children?"

"Maker, no!" Sian swallowed quickly to keep from inhaling her brew. The very thought nearly sent her into apoplexy. She sounded bitter to herself as she shared a confidence and studied the condensation on her mug. "I was with someone once, several years ago. She left me. I understand she decided to marry one of her own people - another elf. Rumor has it that Rafela had eloped to his farm and was raising twins. The only thing she left me with was my sword skills and a broken heart."

"She… _an elf_?!" The Seeker's eyebrows shot to the rafters. "And her husband _owns_ a farm?"

"Yes." Amused, Sian quickly explained. "Ostwick, for all of its rustic architecture, is actually quite cosmopolitan. Particularly with my Father's influence, all people are welcome and treated equally – provided they perform honest work, live within the law and contribute to the community. Humans, elves, dwarves live side-by-side. Everyone works, everyone is paid a fair wage and everyone benefits from the unique skills of the others."

"I seem to remember that Ostwick is unusually egalitarian." Still perplexed, the Seeker pressed. "But Rafela is female?"

The noble's brow gathered in concern. "Does that bother you?"

"No. Of course not." Cassandra responded briskly. "It's just that in Nevarra – where I'm from – that type of relationship is… frowned upon among the nobility." As she went on her explanation was pitched with disdain. "We are trained from a young age to tend to our precious bloodlines. The Pentaghasts are proud and prolific. Our girls and young women are treated like delicate flowers and brought up to be ladies of grace and domestic skill. We marry for social alliances and political expediency. If I'd stayed I might be married to some fat, lazy duke with three children and a house full of servants. It is rare to find a couple married for love."

"But, you left."

"I did."

The Seeker's words resonated with a kind of loneliness that affected Sian. "So you have no one close?"

Cassandra's eyes drew distant. "For a time I did. But he is gone." Gravitating toward the empathy emanating from Sian, the Seeker took a draught of beer and talked. Punctuated by a smattering of questions from Sian, she spoke of her parents and their execution and of her upbringing by her Uncle Vestalus - the Mortalitasi.

For a time, the Seeker quieted, her eyes growing deep and earnest as she began to speak again. "I am sorry to hear of your sister. It breaks the heart to lose a sibling."

The words brought a lump to her throat, and Sian fought back the hollowness in her chest as she thought of Brigid's smile and ready wit. Determined not to allow herself to fall apart, she swallowed hard and glanced away. "Thank you. We were close. I miss her very much."

"I understand." Cassandra seemed to be struggling with her own emotions as well. Sian could have sworn she saw the Seeker's eyes well as she shared her own sorrow. "I had a brother, Anthony. When I was very young – I idolized him. The Pentaghasts are famed for dragon-hunting and he followed in those footsteps. He showed what a Pentaghast could truly be. I wanted to hunt dragons as he did, even though our uncle forbade it. Anthony promised to train me in secret. We would hunt together one day, brother and sister vanquishing the beasts of old. And then he died on me. A group of apostates wanted dragon blood, and wanted him to get it for them. He refused, and they killed him for it. In front of me. I begged the Chantry to let me become a Templar. Instead, they sent me to the Seekers. It took many years to let go of my drive for vengeance. I take solace in believing the Maker has a plan, but, he is not always kind."

Moved by the Seeker's trust, Sian gently touched her arm. "Your faith does you credit."

"As does yours. You have stayed when others would have left." The hour was growing late and Cassandra's speech was tinged with the effects of several tankards of ale as she straightened. "I am good at two things. Fighting – and losing those close to me." Shifting uncomfortably, she stood. "I am not as young as I used to be. We have an early day before us."

Sian's necked popped as she joined the Seeker. "Seems we share that particular problem." She smiled. "Promise me that we'll fight side-by-side or back-to back from now on."

Yawning, Cassandra gripped her arm in farewell. "On that – we can agree."

As she turned to leave, the Herald stopped her. "Seeker Pentaghast, thank you."

"For what?"

"For the conversation." Suddenly Sian felt bereft. She enjoyed being near the Seeker, but there was more. In the short time she'd made Cassandra's acquaintance she felt alive in the woman's presence in a way she hadn't felt for a very long time. "And for your generosity."

Cassandra laughed, her voice throaty with the late hour, her features sultry in the dimmed light. "I suspect that in the days to come – you will earn it."

As Sian watched the Seeker recede into the night, she whispered to herself. "I suspect that you are right."

XXX

By all lights Sian should have been exhausted. But as she stepped into the chilly night, she felt restless. Instead of seeking her bed like a sane woman she found herself wandering through the village and out to the hills overlooking the river. Moonlight filtering through the glow of the Breach danced on icy flows and light motes of snow sparkled on her gambeson as she walked.

Some of her questions had been answered, but she shook her head in wonder as she considered her survival and sudden elevation to Herald of Andraste. At least she wasn't a prisoner, but none of it made any sense. She was not a mage. She knew little of the fade other than the bits and pieces her sister Belwyn had shared with her. _How did I live? Why do I have this Mark?_

She sat on a stone near the riverbank and skipped flat rocks, watching as they rebounded and flew over the frozen surface of the water. The more she thought, the more frustrated she grew. Perhaps it was time to seek out the apostate mage, Solas. Perhaps he would be able to help.

Sian had no sooner thought of him than the mage himself arrived, his footfalls lightly punching the snow as he approached.

Before he spoke, Solas seemed to ponder the tableau before them. "It is beautiful here despite the Breach… it possesses a wildness about it that speaks to the heart."

As her own eyes beheld the crystal covered pines and the glistening winterlight, she agreed. "It does indeed."

"If I am not disturbing your meditation, might I join you?"

"Please. Pull up a rock by all means." Patting the stone next to her, she invited his company. "I was just thinking of seeking you out."

"A thought we share." Solas smiled as he pulled his cloak around him and settled in.

For a time they simply sat in silence, each apparently contemplating their own thoughts.

Solas was the first to speak. "You are exceptionally skilled with your blade. It has been a very long time since I've seen anyone wield a sword in the Way of Endurance – Vir'Suledin. Where did you learn such an art?"

Sian hadn't thought of those days for years but this evening she'd had two occasions to talk about it. The topic was uncomfortable, yet as it had been with Cassandra, something about Solas compelled her to speak about it. "From a friend… a lover. It was a long time ago."

The mage seemed to understand. His voice was sincere as he prodded. "It takes great discipline and patience. That you possess those qualities to a degree that allows you to master the form speaks well of you. Was this person an elf?"

"Ma serannas, Solas." The noble knew the praise to be genuine. "She is." Plucking a blade of withered grass, she shredded it as she spoke. "Rafela worked on the family estate for a time. She had a special way with the horses… and with swords."

Solas chuckled lightly. "And with you it seems."

"Yes." Sian sighed at the memories it invoked - days of fighting with the guard, afternoons of sword play and riding, nights of passion and laughter. Bittersweet. "It took years, but even a shem like me gets lucky once in a while. I counted myself lucky – right up to the day she informed me that she had no more to teach me and left without saying goodbye."

"You still feel the loss keenly."

"Sometimes." Sian shrugged, her brow furrowed. "Less these days. I have other things to worry about."

"Indeed. We all do." Solas agreed, his countenance turned to the distant glowing hole over the temple. "But it would appear that you bear a large burden of it, Herald of Andraste. You do hold the key to our salvation."

The noble dropped her head, the weight of the title settling on her shoulders like a lead mantle. "Yes," Sian exhaled sharply, her breath steaming in the chill as she turned her palm over. "Apparently I do."

Studying her exposed palm, Solas carefully prompted her. "At the moment, it is barely visible. How does it feel when you close a rift?"

Glancing sideways, she cocked an eyebrow. "It opens and burns as we near one. After the first one, when you showed me what to do, the Mark – I don't know, guided me. I could only get relief by lifting it and allowing it to interact with the rift. It comes in waves. I feel nauseous, then as the demons it drops are destroyed and return – I feel better. The Mark stings for a while… but after, like now, it's nearly invisible and it quiets." She gestured toward the temple mount. "What happened up there? How did I survive?"

"It is good that it does not constantly trouble you." The mage pulled his cloak tight against the cold. "As to your questions – I do not have all of the answers. I hope to discover what was used to create the Breach. Any artifact with such power is dangerous. The destruction of the conclave proves that much. The echo of the fade we witnessed revealed the voice of someone who likely wielded it. But, even you – who witnessed the event can't identify the person – or persons."

Sian raked her hair back and straightened. "That is true. Could they have survived? "

"You survived – did you not? Though it is miraculous it would seem. And – I believe that the artifact is still intact. If for no other reason than that more rifts are opening. A fair indication that its power is still loosed on this world." Solas seemed to drift as he spoke. "The artifact that created the breach is unlike anything seen in this age. I will not believe it destroyed until I see the shattered fragments with my own eyes."

"It would be helpful to find that artifact."

"It would indeed." The mage's attention returned in force. "Leliana's people have scoured the area near the blast and found nothing. Whatever the artifact was – it's no longer there."

"Find the person who held it – find the artifact."

"So it would seem."

Sian bit her lip, her own survival in the temple seemed so improbable. After all, she knew herself to be only a mere mortal and the whole affair reeked of power far beyond any she ever reckoned. "Solas, how _did_ I survive?"

"I am not certain how it is you yet live." The mage gently admitted. "Yet you do. It is certain there is an explanation for it – though for the moment, that explanation is not clear."

Sian had hoped that Solas could tell her more, but at least she was beginning to put some of the pieces together. As the two again sat in the solitude of the night, she parsed through the events of the last weeks and cursed her poor memory of the Conclave.

Again, Solas broke the silence. "Your lover taught you to speak her language."

As the chill began to pierce her bones and weariness set in, Sian stretched and stood, ready to seek her bed. "She and others. But only enough to swear fairly eloquently and to be somewhat polite."

"Others?" the elf inquired, his head cocked to look up at her, his eyes brimming with interest.

"Yes. There were a couple of Dalish clans that visited to trade, and my father made a habit of sheltering runaways from Tevinter or those fortunate enough to leave alienages like the one in Denerim. A few became friends of the family. When I was little, I loved to hear stories of their travels and listen to their legends and history." As she spoke, Sian thought back to those acquaintances and smiled. "I have counted myself all the richer for it."

Solas held her eyes. "You enjoyed their tales?"

"Very much. It was interesting to hear of the old elven gods and goddesses and of the traditions of the people. They spoke of life before the Exalted March and of Halamshiral." Sian shivered. The way the mage was considering her in that moment felt discomfiting.

"Ahh – the Dalish." Solas squinted at the heavens and rubbed his neck. "They speak of Halamshiral as if it were the pinnacle of elven civilization and of its loss as being the greatest. In fact, it is not."

His intense gaze broken and her interest piqued, Sian momentarily put off thoughts of sleep. "There was a greater civilization?"

"Yes." The mage's voice seemed to carry echoes of longing as he explained. "Elvhanen was the empire and Arlathan its greatest city. A place of magic and beauty lost to time. Arlathan was a place of wonder. Imagine spires of crystal twining through the branches of living trees, palaces floating among the clouds. Imagine beings who lived forever for whom magic was a natural as breathing. A spell might take years to cast and years to come to fruition. That is what was lost."

"It sounds incredible - almost too good to be real." The idea of such a place seemed fantastic to the noble. Hoping to hear more she prompted him. "I would have liked to see such a place. How do you know of it, Solas?"

The mage smiled approvingly, his dark eyes softened as he told her. "I grew up in a small village to the north. There was little to interest a young man, especially one gifted with magic. But as I slept, spirits of the fade showed me glimpses of wonders I had never seen or imagined. I treasured my dreams. After a time, I traveled and dreamed in ancient ruins and battlefields. There I journeyed ever deeper into the fade and witnessed the dreams of lost civilizations. Spirits in those places press against the veil, weakening the barrier between our worlds. When I dream in such places, I can find memories no other living being has seen."

"That's remarkable! But I have heard that spirits tempt you, try to make deals."

With a wry smile, Solas rose beside her. "Certainly. But I learned how to defend myself against more aggressive spirits and how to interact safely with the rest. I learned how to control my dreams with full consciousness. There's so much I wanted to explore." Drawing a deep sigh, he continued. "The Dalish, and for that matter the Chantry, misunderstand the nature of spirits and demons. Spirits wish to join the living and a demon – is that wish gone wrong. Spirits are spirits – just as magic is magic or a sword a sword. The end result has much to do with the thought and intent of the person in communion with them."

"Is there anything left of the elves of Elvhanen?" It seemed improbable, but Sian was captivated.

"Scattered throughout Thedas, possibly throughout the world, there are artifacts and some ruins that remain. It is likely that the artifact that caused the explosion is one…" Glancing meaningfully at the weapon peeking over her shoulder, he finished, "… and the sword you bear is another."

"My sword," Sian gently drew it and held it in front of her, point down. The blade gleamed in the reflected light, a tracery of elegant runes etching the surface. An organic twist of yellow, white and rose gold circled a deep sapphire stone inset into the crossguard that cast a brilliant blue nimbus on the snow below. "It was my grandfather's sword. My father gave it to me when I was knighted. I knew it was special… very valuable… but if what you say is true." The noble could scarcely believe her ears. This was troubling. "Perhaps it doesn't belong to me… perhaps I should…"

"No." Solas's voice was steady and insistent as he assured her. "The sword is in the right hands. The way you wield it, it is clear that it is part of you. It _belongs_ with you." Extending his fingers he caressed the runes and closed his eyes. The runes seemed for a moment to be written in starry fire and the blade hummed. Opening his eyes, the mage announced. "Its name is Sulevin."

Awestruck, Sian's hand trembled as she considered her weapon and named the blade in the common tongue. "Purpose. Its name is Purpose."

Solas smiled enigmatically as he acknowledged her translation. "Yes."

Sleep evaded Sian that night. Trying to drift to sleep she could only relive that moment the mage touched the blade, set it ablaze and uttered its name. She had hoped to find answers, but came away with more questions.


	5. Chapter 4 - The Land Cries Out

Chapter 4 – The Land Cries Out

As promised Sian and her little company quickly located Mother Giselle and cleared the crossroads to ensure the safety of the refugees. Though she hoped to be able to return to Haven with the Inquisition's escort, endless folk with an endless assortment of needs flocked to the Herald for help. It was not in Sian's nature to turn anyone away, so she sent the Revered Mother with an escort on to Haven and went about assisting the refugees and the remaining forces. Lose a wedding ring or a phylactery? See the Herald. Bandits a bother? Ser Trevelyan and her merry band would wipe them out. Possessed brother, farm animal or wildlife got you down? Just tip off an Inquisition soldier and the Herald would save the day.

So it was that Sian was relieved when one night the message finally came that Mother Giselle had reached Haven; and that, true to her word, the good priest had supplied Leliana with the names of Chantry clerics willing to speak with the Herald. While the idea of talking with the obstinate clerics wasn't particularly appealing to the noble, especially since Sian had reason to believe that it might turn out to be a trap, a respite from the Hinterlands suited her right down to her boots.

After a day and half of fighting bandits and closing holes in the sky, Varric glared back to the east as they quick-stepped toward Val Royeaux. "Gah – the Hinterlands has gone to shit. Bandits, mages and Templars, possessed wildlife, demons… what else can go wrong?"

The words had no sooner left his lips than Sian felt a familiar burning sensation in her hand and saw the accompanying glow building in her palm. "This." She hissed between her teeth.

Cassandra turned from point position, alarm written in her face. "Where?"

Grimacing, Sian gestured to a cave entrance a short distance away and ignoring the fire in her hand, pulled Sulevin from its scabbard. "It's there – in that cave."

Altering her course, the Seeker led the way into the cavern. Down the path and into the depths a pulsing emerald rift was wide open, demons rapidly materializing around it. Drawing her sword, she looked to Sian.

Teeth gritted against the pain in her hand, the Herald nodded. As one, they plunged into the madness, followed closely by Solas and Varric. Though not the toughest opponents they had faced, a horde of minor demons mobbed the cave. The two warriors fought back to back disassembling terrors and shades as swiftly as they cropped up. Solas and Varric concentrated on the spectral wraiths and desire demons as Cassandra and Sian scythed their way to the emerald rupture looming overhead. Working under the eerie glow of the rift, Sian turned her palm to the thing. One last demon swooped toward her, only to be dispelled by Cassandra's gift. Engulfed in the purifying light of the Seeker's spell purge, Sian shut the rift down and dropped to her knees.

Cradling her hand, Sian could feel the residual sting of the Mark in her fingers as the glow in her palm began to diminish. Cassandra gripped her shoulder gently, "Is it passing?"

"It is." Sian responded, trembling as she leaned on her sword to rise, weary to the bone. "That's the third one today. I don't know about the rest of you – but now that we've cleared the cave, this looks like a good place to camp for the night."

"I agree." The Seeker stood at her side, eyes narrowed as she surveyed their surroundings and her companions. "We could use a rest."

"And a decent meal." Solas added as he emerged from the shadows, casually dusting frosty residue from his robes. "If Master Tethras would be so kind as to accompany me, we can see about provisions for supper."

"I'm game." Varric grinned at his own pun, caressing Bianca. "I think I have a bolt or two to spare if it means a hot meal."

Sian and Cassandra made short work of retrieving packs, unrolling bedrolls and starting a campfire. For a time, they sat in companionable silence waiting on the men to return. The Herald busied her hands re-working a breastplate buckle that seemed to dig into her side with alarming regularity, while the Seeker honed the fine blade of the long-knife she routinely wore on the back of her belt.

Sian watched as the warrior expertly worked the edge of the dragonbone blade on a worn oilstone. "That is a truly impressive knife, Seeker. There must be a story behind it."

"Not really." Cassandra glanced up and graced her with a rare smile. She appeared wistful as she presented the weapon hilt first to Sian for a closer look. "It was a gift."

It was difficult not to hold the thing with some reverence. It was clearly quite old, the silver filigreed crossguard and pommel were fine but darkened with age, the ebony hilt was inset with a "P" carved in Nevarran script topped with a crown, and the razor-like blade gleamed with costly, deadly runes. Sian whistled appreciatively as she surveyed the craftsmanship then carefully returned the blade to the Seeker.

Cassandra contemplated the blade in her hands. "It is quite old. It has been in my ancestry for many generations. For a time it belonged to my father. When Anthony came of age as a man of the family, Uncle Vestalus gave it to him to carry. I am the only Pentaghast female to wield it."

Looking at it, Sian remembered the little cut that very blade had placed just under her heart as she ended the duel with the Seeker. The edge had actually pierced a shallow "v" in her skin that healed into a distinctive scar she would carry the rest of her life. She had no doubt that it had seen much use and wondered what tales it could tell of the Seeker's life. "That seems a heavy responsibility." She remarked as she absently rubbed the very spot.

Cassandra drew her bottom lip, worrying it. Her voice was grave as she addressed the comment. "It has saved me many times." The flames from the campfire danced merrily across the Seeker's cheekbones illuminating ephemeral lines of a distant pain as she spoke of her past. "The night before Anthony died, Uncle Vestalus informed me that I would be spending my days in the company of a noblewoman, Countess Minerva Von Claire. Instead of learning about dragons and fighting, I was to be educated in the ways of etiquette and attracting suitors."

"I can't imagine that went over well." Sian predicted, her attention focused on the ambient beauty of the face before her contrasted with the martial quality of the eye-emblazoned tabard and armor on Cassandra's fit, but curved body.

"It did not." The Seeker sighed deeply, her eyes strained. "I was just a child and I had quite the tantrum. I would not allow it and after much arguing with my Uncle, I went to my room to pack my things and run away. Anthony followed me. He picked me up, sat with me and called me 'his little warrior'. He told me that if I would consent to attend the Countess, he would give me the blade. I was delighted and agreed." Cassandra closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, then continued. "He smelled of leather and soap as he bid me good night and tucked me into bed."

"He must have loved you very much." Sian was utterly drawn in to the Seeker's emotions. "I 'm sure he'd be very proud of you – of the warrior you've become."

"Perhaps of the warrior," Cassandra appeared thoughtful, then with a smirk and just a hint of sarcasm, deflected, "but perhaps not so much of the woman. I detested the idea of being so focused on finery and pleasing the nobility at the expense of learning about things that matter. Of being able to protect the ones I… of being useful."

Sian was sorely tempted to follow that last thought. The Seeker was absolutely one of the most gifted warriors she'd ever known, but there were moments when her internal light gleamed like a beacon. Moments like earlier in the day, when she'd gone out of her way to return a lost child to his mother. When they found him, her tough, aloof façade dropped. The small boy had been chilled, filthy, and crying. The Seeker held him close despite the grime, spoke softly to him and wiped away his tears. After bringing the waif to his mother she quietly gave them some coin from her own pouch and set them on their way to the crossroads. Sian was certain the pair would eventually show up in Haven. Such was the generosity of her soul, but the warrior guarded her privacy and the Herald respected it.

Moved by the lingering image, but not wanting to distress the Seeker, she laughed. "It sounds like you were feisty and charming as a child. I would like to have seen it."

"I was not so charming – but definitely willful." Cassandra snorted, then chuckled lightly. "But you have a way with children, if you had shown me your sword I might have been tolerable. I am certain there must be a tale behind, what was it Solas named it – Sulevin?"

Sian gazed at her weapon and scratched her head. "I'm sure there must be. But, other than telling me that it belonged to my grandfather, Father didn't tell me any. Perhaps one day I'll get to ask him about it."

"I wish to hear them then – someday." Cassandra's cheeks colored slightly, but she kept her eyes locked with Sian's and smiled.

The Herald was mesmerized. She knew something important had just happened but was uncertain as to what it was. She was about to pursue it when Varric and Solas reappeared with supper in hand.

"Birds of a feather tend to die together." Varric crowed, strutting to the campfire with two plump pheasants. "I don't know what these guys have been eating but I know we'll be dining like royalty tonight."

With practiced hands the rogue mounted the stuffed, spitted birds on two branched twigs. Soon the aroma of wild leek and sage permeated the air and Sian discovered that her mouth was watering in anticipation.

Fortunately, the fowl roasted swiftly and before long they were all enjoying the fruits of the hunt. While Varric had busied himself flushing out the pheasants, Solas had foraged for herbs and orphan carrots. Supplemented with wild rice and a taste of salt from Varric's personal stores, the combination created an ambrosia-like stuffing for the birds.

"I haven't eaten like this since I left Ostwick." Sian praised the effort as she tore off a hunk of succulent breast meat, wrapped a piece of roasted sweet leek around it and stuffed her mouth greedily.

Lapping the last bit of juice from her thumb, the reserved Seeker commented. "At times you surprise me, Varric. You are a talented chef."

Rarely willing to let an opportunity to needle Cassandra slip by, Varric hooted. "Seeker! Are you complimenting me? I simply have to write this down."

"Oh. Did I say chef? Perhaps I should have said scullery maid." Cassandra retorted. "Lady Montilyet would be delighted to press you into service."

The little rogue sighed dramatically. "Oh – I can see it now… manacled to a butcher block." As the threat hit home, Varric ventured. "You wouldn't – would you?"

Arching an eyebrow, the Seeker pressed him, a note of assurance in her voice. "I would."

Varric swallowed hard and chuckled nervously. "If I promise to make this again – just for us, mind you. Would you keep this our little secret?"

Too exhausted to play, the Seeker contented herself with rolling her eyes and letting it pass. Yawning, Cassandra stood and stretched. "That I can do."

Sian noticed the deep circles under the Seeker's eyes. The warrior had stolidly refused to allow anyone else to take mid-watch and it had begun to manifest. After a fair amount of wrangling, she managed to get the Seeker to take the dog-watch and get some well-earned sleep. Sated and weary, Cassandra sought her bedroll, followed soon after by Solas.

The embers of the campfire warming her face, Sian drifted into conversation with the rogue. "So this red lyrium is something you discovered, Varric?"

"Well, technically – Bartrand, my brother, discovered it first." Varric shivered despite the heat. "I _really_ hate that stuff."

"I gathered." Sian commented dryly. "But – what does it do? I mean, we've seen some stashes of it in the Hinterlands. Somebody wants it for something."

"Yeah. And whoever it is - is up to no good." The dwarf winced. "That shit turned Knight-Commander Meredith into a statue – a dangerous statue. Hang around that crap long enough and it makes you go crazier than a bronto with a stick up its ass."

The Herald smiled in spite of the gravity. "So how did you find it? Where was it?"

Varric shot her a measuring look, shifted uncomfortably, and then sighed. "In the deep roads, at an abandoned thaig. I drug poor Hawke into a raw deal. I convinced her to throw in with me and Bartrand. The expedition was supposed to get us rich, instead it caused more trouble than it was worth. Long story – short. By the time we took on Meredith – she was stronger, faster, more insane and meaner than any opponent we'd ever faced."

"I heard it was quite the battle. I suppose it's too much to hope that we won't see more of it." The thought of dealing with anything infused with red lyrium made the hackles on Sian's neck rise.

"Probably." Varric whispered to himself.

For a time, the two companions listened to the crackling of the fire, lost to their own thoughts. Sian's mind meandered to her earlier conversation with Cassandra and her eyes wandered to the Seeker's peaceful face only a few feet away.

"You could have taken her you know." The rogue smirked, apparently aware of the subject of the Herald's attention.

"What do you mean?" Sian asked, the very picture of innocence.

"During the duel. When you feinted, you could have taken her down. Why stay your hand?" He squinted at her.

"We're comrades, Varric. I set her up. It wouldn't have been very sporting of me now, would it?" She smiled, her eyes unconsciously roving back toward the sleeping warrior.

"I about split my gut when you slapped her on the ass with that big sword of yours. The look on her face was priceless." The rogue smugly cracked as he bedded down.

Chagrined, her eyes soft and distant as she considered her actions, Sian remarked apologetically, "I shouldn't have done that. It wasn't a worthy move. I should have tried something else."

Settling his head on his arm, one eye closed, one eye open and filled with mischief, he offered a parting shot. "Well, then take some advice from an old rogue. The next time you need to distract her – just wink."

Blushing deeply, Sian felt a shock in her chest at the man's insight. She was trying to be circumspect. If he observed her captivation with the Seeker, what was Cassandra thinking? Had she noticed?

XXX

Embers sparked as Cassandra brought the dying campfire to life. The hours of sleep had been an Andraste-blessed, dreamless slumber and for the first time in weeks she felt refreshed. As she settled by the hearth to finish her watch in the wee dark hours before dawn, she was content to let her mind roam. Though her days in the Hinterlands had been long, sleep hadn't come easily and when it finally did she relived the conclave and its aftermath in nightmares. The majority of grand clerics, the best of the Templars, senior members of prominent families, the Most Holy – lost. Accomplished mages, Galyan – lost.

Though she keenly felt the loss of Divine Justinia, Galyan's death had left her reeling. Night after sleepless night she'd been strangled with grief, struggling to put it in perspective. Through the years she had placed so much hope in their relationship. In the beginning, there had been passionate sparks - but they were both young, heedless of the duties that would part them. As time passed, the relationship had become one of companionship punctuated by desperate intimacy. Though Galyan had not been a skillful lover, he was ardent, sweet and funny. She craved the ease, the comfort and release of sex, and the companionship of shared insights and goals. Somehow, she had convinced herself that one day they would settle down, marry. Her love for him had become a habit, a wish that - even had he lived, may not have come true.

Her parents, Anthony, Galyan, all lost, and even now the only family she'd known for years, the Seekers of Truth – were missing. Caring, loving had sustained her through many dark hours – but it had been costly. The only person still standing that she felt kinship with was Leliana. During their years of traveling, working together on behalf of Justinia, they had grown close. But of late, the normally cool, collected lay sister was distant, distracted with the legacies of her own losses, struggling with a crisis of faith and bereft of the comfort of her love, the Hero of Ferelden.

As the first pale light of morning peeked through an earthy crag in the cavernous ceiling, it streamed like watercolor over the face of the sleeping Herald, drawing the Seeker's eyes. Sian rested on her back, arm draped over her eyes, eyes that Cassandra knew were as blue as the Waking Sea on a clear day. Neatly cropped hair as dark as her own was tousled, a tuft obstinately ruffled over the woman's ear. Somehow it seemed an insult to the Herald's dignity and Cassandra had to fight her instincts not to smooth it.

Though Sian started as her prisoner there was something compelling about her and the Seeker had decided to trust her own gut about it. That trust had more than paid off. The Herald exceeded her initial expectations. She'd willingly agreed to fight – to bring order to the chaos, and her work in the Hinterlands reflected it. No complaints – no rhetorical questions. She'd simply gone about the business of searching for practical solutions and making as many things right as possible.

Ser Trevelyan had proven to be brave and capable. When the company stumbled upon an especially hefty chunk of red lyrium, the Herald grimly and efficiently destroyed it, leaving only scarlet dust as a reminder of its existence. As they fought through mages and Templars, common thugs and sundry other malicious ilk, Sian tirelessly wielded Sulevin at the Seeker's back. More than once, the Knight-Captain protected her and had just as graciously accepted her protection. It was refreshing to be paired with a warrior as daring and chivalrous as the Herald was proving to be.

Stranger to the Seeker was the fact that she had let her guard down, talked about Anthony and her family, shared long held thoughts that she did not customarily reveal to others. Sian listened, her eyes speaking volumes as they talked. With so many things in common, Cassandra felt herself drawn to the woman. It spoke to her heart.

On one hand it was comforting – but on the other, it chilled her. The Herald was not lacking in self-control, but Cassandra recognized the passion of a kindred spirit and she needed to rationalize her fear of it. Resolving to balance it, the Seeker quietly hatched a plan. The common folk and Inquisition forces were already looking to Sian for critical decision-making. If the Seeker could encourage that perhaps the Inquisition might have the leader it deserved and she might have a buffer against the feelings Sian stirred in her heart and the confused craving she tried to forget during the duel. The Chantry meeting at Val Royeaux was the key. If the Herald performed as well as she had in the Hinterlands, all would be well.


	6. Chapter 5 - Masking the Truth

Chapter 5 – Masking the Truth

The city of Val Royeaux, jewel of Orlais and home to the Chantry, stood in wait of the Herald and her crew of adventurers. Cassandra stared as they progressed down the Avenue of Her Reflective Thought and sighted black bunting gathered elegantly over gates, festooning cornices and shop doors. The somber reminder that Justinia would never return magnified the void in her chest. "The city still mourns," she observed forlornly.

Sian seemed to be taking it all in discreetly, her eyes casually wandering the statues, tactful gaze measuring the grand architecture and people alike. A masked woman, recognizing the Herald, squeaked and cowered as they passed, nearly falling to the pavers in an attempt to avoid the tall noble. Sian cast a world weary glance to the Seeker. "I didn't expect to see a case of the vapors this quickly," she commented, her voice as dry as dust.

"You will no doubt get used to it. Orlesians tend to be somewhat delicate in disposition." Cassandra replied confidently, grateful for the distraction. The Seeker's home had been Val Royeaux for the better part of her life. She understood the people, both noble and common. She knew every corner, every pristine street and every derelict alleyway. But despite the intimate familiarity, she felt like a stranger.

"Given the level of sophisticated violence precipitated by the Great Game, I would be surprised otherwise. Do we need to concern ourselves with it, Seeker?" Sian stopped, her eyebrow arched as she appraised an alabaster likeness of Maferath cowering before the Maker.

"It is wise to give it thought. Regardless of any discussion we have with the clerics, someone will be looking to turn it to personal advantage. We should be wary – but not overly concerned I think." The Herald's grasp of the situation was a pleasant surprise.

As they prepared to enter the gates of the city proper, one of Leliana's scouts ran up to them, bowed and standing directly in front of Sian offered her a formal greeting, "My Lady Herald." The soldier was tense, aquiver with alarm.

Stepping forward, Cassandra inquired briskly. "What have you found?"

"The Chantry Mothers await you… but so do a great many Templars." The words tumbled from the desperate scout. "The citizens seem to think they will protect them from the Inquisition. They are all gathered at the far end of the marketplace."

Initially, there had been no indication of where the Templars had gone. For a moment, Cassandra was relieved, but as she swiftly considered the motive for their presence, she was puzzled. The Order of Templars had officially broken with the Chantry, why would they come to its defense? "They wish to protect the people? From us? Did you see any Seekers of Truth?"

"No, Seeker Pentaghast – none." The soldier reported, her eyes fixed on the Herald expectantly. "Only Templars."

"They look now to you, Herald of Andraste." Cassandra gestured to the scout and serenely nodded to Sian, pleased to pass the mantle of leadership and relieved that her objective was being so easily met. "I will follow where you lead."

As the gravity of the words sank in, Sian nodded responsively then focused her attention on the scout at her feet. "Go directly to Haven as quickly as you can. Let Sister Leliana, Ambassador Montilyet and Commander Cullen know that we may be… delayed."

Rising rapidly, the scout was already running as she acknowledged the order. "As you command, My Lady Herald."

Forging ahead, Sian led them past an array of merchant shops and into the main circle. Citizens clustered around a makeshift stage, their conversations strained and hushed. The city guard watched warily with hands to hilts as the Inquisition strode toward the gathering, but made no move to impede them.

As they approached, a senior cleric took center stage. Cassandra recognized her – Mother Hevara. The woman had shown good sense in the past, but as the Seeker listened to her rant condemning The Herald for Justinia's death, her speech littered with references to the Divine as having a beautiful but naïve heart, the only response she had was a disgusted snort. Most Holy did have a beautiful heart – but she was anything but naïve. She had known the division in the aftermath of Kirkwall was deep and had, in fact, prepared for it. She knew her plans could go sideways and had entrusted the writ declaring the Inquisition to her Left and Right Hands with instructions to see it through. Furtively, Cassandra glanced at Sian. She seemed to be unruffled, even when the windy crone accused her of murder.

Sian spoke in her own defense, her voice clear, ringing with overtones of defiance yet filled with humility. "Though I do not know why, the Maker preserved me in the Breach. _It_ is the true enemy. _It_ is the real threat. _It_ is my purpose. I want to end this – and I _will_ close it. With His help."

The conviction in her words created a ripple of raised flesh on Cassandra's forearms. "It's true. The Inquisition seeks to end this madness before it is too late."

"It is already too late!" Mother Hevara scowled and pointing to a group of Templars marching toward the stage, led by Lord Seeker Lucius, exclaimed. "The Templars have returned to the Chantry. They will face this Inquisition and the people will be safe once more."

As the Templars mounted the platform, a surly looking lieutenant savagely struck the unfortunate cleric on the back of her skull, knocking her to the stage floor.

Sian took a rapid step forward, a vein pulsing on her tanned temple. The Herald's eyes seemed to spark as the Seeker caught her eye. Momentarily, Cassandra thought Sian might reach for Sulevin but her worry was for naught.

One of the Templars moved to assist the stricken Mother. Firmly, the Lord Seeker restrained him, his voice paternal, commanding. "Still yourself. She is beneath us."

Sian seemed to tremble with the strain of containing her outrage at the unsolicited brutality. Through gritted teeth, she spat. "What's the meaning of this?

"Her claim to authority is an insult. Much like your own." Lucius rumbled as he stalked to the head of the Templar formation.

Cassandra brought him to a halt with her words. "Lord Seeker Lucius, it is imperative that we speak with –"

Turning, Lucius growled viciously at the Seeker, his eyes flaming. "You will not address me."

Though her parting from the Seekers was a bone of contention between them, Cassandra never expected him to greet her with such open hostility. Lucius was not the sort of man given to acting out in pique. Puzzled by his demeanor and cut to the quick, she tried again, "Lord Seeker?"

Turning to face her he snarled, his authoritative voice growing in volume. "Creating a heretical movement. Raising this upstart to be Andraste's Prophet. You should be ashamed. You should all be ashamed. The Templars failed no one when they left the Chantry to purge the mages. You are the ones who have failed. YOU - who would leash our righteous swords with doubt and fear. If you came to appeal to the Chantry you are too late. The only destiny here that demands respect is mine."

Behind him, The Herald addressed the Templars. "Templars, one of your own commands the Inquisition forces – join us as he did!"

The Lord Seeker scoffed. "A staunch and loyal supporter of the Order – just like you, Cassandra. So loyal he abandoned us to follow a false herald." Looming as he continued his tirade with a sneer, Lucius proclaimed. "I will make the Templar order a power that stands alone against the void. We deserve recognition. Independence. You have shown me nothing. And the Inquisition – less than nothing." As he crisply turned on his heel, he issued his orders in an imperious voice. "Templars! To me! Val Royeaux is unworthy of our protection. We march!"

As the Inquisition watched the Lord Seeker lead the Templars to the gate, Varric pithily commented. "Charming fellow, isn't he? And now we all know why the game is called Wicked Grace."

Cassandra felt her face flush and her limbs seize with shock. In stony silence, her eyes followed as the last of the former protectors of the Chantry left Val Royeaux. She'd witnessed Templars fighting mages since well before the Conclave and that had been dreadful, but to actually witness the Templars abandon the White Spire, to take final leave of the city that for centuries had been their home, was devastating. _Has the Lord Seeker gone mad?_

Vaguely, she heard Sian ask Solas and Varric to check on the Chantry Mothers, urging them to be gentle, but cautious. Then, she felt a tentative touch to her bicep drawing her aside. Listlessly, she allowed herself to be guided and a lump formed in her throat as she discovered its origin.

Sian stood at her side, eyes worried and empathetic. The Herald's whisper was achingly gentle and intimate. "How well do you know him, Cassandra?"

The Seeker swallowed bile and unshed tears, the hollowness of being in the city and the stinging rebuke from the Lord Seeker wreaking havoc on her self-control. For a moment she simply stopped, closed her eyes and tried to find her center. Her own words sounded disembodied as she replied. "He has been in command for the past two years – after Lord Seeker Lambert's death." Subjected to so many emotions at once, she rasped, distraught and puzzled, "He was always a decent man – sober, not given to grand-standing or driven by ambition. I do not know what to think. This is – bizarre."

Sian squinted toward the gate, concern and determination written in her face. "Is there any chance he can be reasoned with?"

Cassandra felt bare as the Herald turned to her and their eyes met. She knew she could depend on Sian in a fight – but she never expected that the noble might protect her emotional vulnerabilities, might truly care about her dignity or share her deepest concerns. She hadn't needed to even ask – the Herald had simply made herself present. Stepping away, Cassandra sounded more confident than she felt. "I do not know. But there must be others in the Order who see what he has become. We should return to Haven and inform the others of what has transpired."

XXX

Despite Sian's intention to take Cassandra's advice and head directly to Haven, she was quickly disabused of the notion. In rapid succession the Herald's party found themselves – first, neck–deep in back-alley thugs; then, ass-deep in Orlesian nobles at Madame de Fer's salon gathering. Sian wasn't really certain which was more painful – being subjected to the bandit's arrows or the fawning chat and insults of the nobles. Either way, escaping Val Royeaux was proving to be a difficult proposition.

On a positive note, the Inquisition had grown by two very capable souls. Sera, an elven archer, proved to be as stealthy and as accurate with her bow as she was cocky. After bandying words like "big-hats" and "Red Jenny" with the Herald, she finally got down to business. Confessing that her interest in the Inquisition rested on the goal of setting things right again so the business of trickery, thieving and blackmailing nobles on behalf of "the little people" could resume, she promised that her presence would ensure that those same little people would contribute espionage and sabotage to the Inquisition's arsenal. Sian had conducted enough investigations in Ostwick to know the potential of the alliance and swiftly enlisted the lithe rogue.

Enchanter Vivienne, or as she is styled in some circles – Madame de Fer, seemed to be charming and completely forthright. The last First Enchanter of the Circle Mages and former Imperial Enchanter to Empress Celene offered her substantial power and skills in clear speech without broadcasting any motive other than a desire to end the chaos and restore order to the Chantry. However, Sian perceived deeper ambition in the woman, recognizing her cultured speech and flawless appearance to be attributes of an accomplished player of the Great Game. Though her request to join the Inquisition was plainly spoken, the Herald suspected that there was something more beneath the surface. Sian considered turning her down regardless of her abilities but Cassandra advised her to accept. Based on the Seeker's advocacy she acquiesced.

With the business of spontaneous recruitment out of the way, the Herald made haste to the city gates intent on returning to Inquisition headquarters, but the company was once again delayed.

As they hurried to reach the gates, a voice rich with the accent of Orlais called out to the Herald. "If I may have a moment of your time?"

Pivoting sharply, a polite, but firm, _"No",_ on her tongue, Sian halted as Cassandra exclaimed incredulously, "Grand Enchanter Fiona?!"

Even the normally retiring Solas stepped forward, his spare features rife with curiosity. "Leader of the mage rebellion. Is it not dangerous for you to be here?"

Indeed, to Sian it seemed rather brazen for the diminutive mage to risk exposure on this particular day in Val Royeaux. She appeared to be unaccompanied in a city that had only recently been occupied by The Lord Seeker himself, as well as a host of Templars. Head canted, she pursued Solas' thought. "Indeed. That seems a worthy question."

"It is simple, really. I heard of this gathering and wanted to see the fabled Herald of Andraste with my own eyes. If it is help with the Breach you require, perhaps my people are the best option."

Sian considered Fiona skeptically. "And what do you expect in exchange for your assistance?"

The Grand Enchanter seemed to be sizing her up. It might have been comical given the delicacy of the woman's frame compared to the height and battle-hardened musculature of the Herald, but Sian's neck bristled. She sensed the petite mage to be rife with an enormous reserve of power. Standing close, Cassandra quietly nodded in affirmation of her instincts.

"Oh - I haven't promised the Inquisition our help yet." Fiona's eyes were filled with mirth. "Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe. Come – meet with the mages. An alliance could help us both after all. I hope to see you there." As suddenly as she appeared she was gone, her final parting echoing in her wake. "Au revoir, My Lady Herald."

Sian felt a distinct chill in the air and shivered. Even the solid Seeker seemed to shudder as she turned toward the road and scowled. "Come. Let us return to Haven."

XXX

The first thing Sian noticed as they crested the hill leading to the village of Haven was the enormous number of tents and make-shift buildings that had sprung up in their absence. As she and the others made their way toward the gates, familiar voices called out greetings and she recognized faces from their adventures in the Hinterlands. Many were refugees from the crossroads, but some were the mages, Templars and skilled workers they'd helped in some fashion.

As Solas and Varric peeled off to their own pursuits, Leliana fell in step with them outside of the Chantry. "You have been busy." The Spymaster observed, glancing to the Seeker.

"We have." Cassandra confirmed with a hint of satisfaction, smiling softly. "But the credit should go to the Herald. Her sword and her character are quite persuasive."

Sian felt her ears redden. "It wouldn't have happened without you, Seeker."

"You all deserve credit for certain. But regardless, the tales of your rescues and demon-slaying grow larger with each telling. It is hard to imagine that some of it falls short, no?" Leliana gestured toward a cluster of folk whispering as they passed. "This is good. The Inquisition has gained influence. Many of these people are skilled. We need each and every one of them to build a force to be reckoned with."

"And – they need a place to call home. A place to be safe." Sian reminded her.

"Of course." The Spymaster smiled, the points of her teeth glimmering almost ferally.

Sian considered Leliana further as they finished their ascent. She had heard stories of her in which the former bard seemed ruthless and uncaring, but Sian had trouble reconciling it with the laughing, carefree woman she had seen accompanying the Hero of Ferelden in Denerim ten years before. Cassandra's words rang in her head, " _The Maker is not always kind."_

Ambassador Montilyet and Commander Cullen awaited them as they entered the Chantry narthex. Together they made their way to the War Room.

Josephine breathed an elegant sigh, sounding relieved as she opened the conversation. "It's good you have returned. We heard of your encounter."

"You received the Herald's message then?" Cassandra leaned her hips into her customary position at a side table and crossed her arms.

"We did." Leliana answered pragmatically. "My agents within the city witnessed the meeting and sent word – of course."

"It's a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses as well as the city." Cullen noted, rubbing his neck. "I could never have imagined such a thing."

"Neither could I." The Seeker studied her boots. "But it is so. I saw it with my own eyes. Lord Lucius is not the man I remember."

"True." Leliana shifted, toying with a piece on the war table that lay within Ferelden's borders. "He has taken the order to Therinfal Redoubt, but to do what? My reports have been very - odd."

"We must look into it." Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose watching as Leliana contemplated the token. "I'm certain not everyone in the order will support the Lord Seeker."

"Or we could request the assistance of the mages in Redcliffe instead." Lady Montilyet interjected, pen in hand.

The former Templar exhaled sharply. "You think the mage rebellion is any more united? It could be ten times worse!"

"No worse than the Templars may be!" Leliana objected vigorously, heat coloring her cheeks as she shifted to attention.

Sian listened as Cullen, Josephine and Leliana argued, desperate to come to some conclusion about which faction to approach to find the help they needed to close the Breach. They all had valuable insights and good points, but they could not reach a consensus and the Herald was sure that if the matter was not resolved swiftly, they would soon be at each other's throats. She looked to the silent Seeker, but Cassandra's head hung to her chest, her face a portrait of sorrow. Slapping her palm on the war table, she stepped to the fore. "Stop," She told them, her voice low and firm. "This is getting us nowhere."

Silence ensued and they stood stock still.

Cassandra cleared her throat, and glanced at Sian approvingly. "That is the truth of it." The Seeker's eyes seemed to plead with Sian as she pursued a solution. "What would you have us do?"

Raking a hand through her hair, Sian considered the strategy table and closed her eyes in thought. Slowly opening them again, she leveled her gaze at the council. "They are both capable and powerful. But we know next to nothing about what the Lord Seeker intends and what the Templars have been up to. They've gone to Therinfal Redoubt - but that isn't an area we've explored or secured. On the other hand – we have done extensive work in the Hinterlands. Though we are no more certain of the mage's intentions, the area around Redcliffe is occupied by our troops and scouts." Gesturing to the tokens on the table, she pursued her line of thought. "In the event that talks fail and something goes spectacularly wrong, we have back-up. From a practical standpoint, I believe the mages should be our first option."

Cullen sighed, his voice pitched with resignation as he spoke. "I have to admit that I find no fault in your reasoning. Though I seriously doubt that whatever we do will be without a struggle."

"We could send an emissary to the mages first to ensure that we are not walking into a carefully laid trap." Josephine offered, smoothing the wrinkles in her blouse.

"No." Sian responded quickly. "I have to go. If it is a trap of some kind – my people are best equipped to handle it. That is – if you have no objections, Seeker."

"I do not." Cassandra looked relieved as she nodded her assent. "I think it is a wise choice. However, I believe we should go soon. The invitation may not keep for long."

Her face grim, The Herald agreed. "Then we leave at first light. Maker help us all."

Decision made, expressions grim, they dispersed to begin preparations for meeting the mages.

XXX

As Sian recessed from the War Room, a cultured voice called to her from the chapel grotto. "May we speak, My Lady Herald?"

Altering her course, Sian answered Madame de Fer's inquiry with an abbreviated, but deferential nod. "Of course, Lady Vivienne. How may I be of service?"

"You are from Ostwick, are you not? A member of the House of Trevelyan?" The mage's tone seemed friendly, conversational.

"I am."

"I understand that you have a sister who was in the Circle of Magi there?"

"It's true. My sister, Belwyn, is a mage. I sometimes used to visit on her free days." Sian privately wondered if her sister was alive – safe, maybe even at home.

"You don't by any chance know of Senior Enchanter Lydia, do you?"

"Only by reputation." The question was benign sounding, but Sian was wary. "Belwyn spoke well of her."

The First Enchanter appeared thoughtful, but spoke briskly, with assumed authority. "She's lucky if she studied with her. Lydia had a wealth of knowledge. I understand she was killed by one of her own students when the Ostwick Circle rebelled. I think we both agree that this war must end and the circles _must_ be restored. The Divine's death has shattered the balance of power in Thedas. If it is not restored quickly countless lives will be lost. Mages, Templars and innocent people of all kinds now look to the Inquisition to decide their fate."

 _There it is_ , Sian thought. Eyebrow quirked, she shed light on the Enchanter's agenda. "And that is why you wanted to be here. To have a hand in deciding that fate."

Perfect lashes twitched as Vivienne cocked her head. "Wouldn't you. For almost a thousand years the world believed it was in the hands of the Maker. And now many believe you are the agent of his will. Whatever the truth is that belief gives you power." Her eyes seemed to wander the Herald's face. "Do you truly believe in the Maker?"

Sian stood toe to toe with the Iron Lady. "I do. I have faith in the Maker. However, I do not believe in the wisdom of literally interpreting the Chant, nor do I believe that every tradition built since the original Inquisition is without some fatal flaw. I have studied enough history to know that the winners record it, omitting those things that show them unfavorably and adding convenient truths that make their case. Nobody should claim to know the will of the Maker. Not me and not the Chantry. I believe there is truth to be discerned and I don't think for one second the Maker would expect us to leave our brains at the door. He would hope for us to have faith that allows revelation and fully expect us to seek the truth."

The First Enchanter smoothed a non-existent wrinkle in her pristine robes as she spoke. "Perhaps nobody _should_ make such a claim. But if no one leads the way – many will be left behind and in darkness."

Sian pulled a deep breath, determined to make her position clear. "I wholeheartedly agree that the chaos is good for no one, order must be restored. But let me be forthright. Though I admire the Chantry – I am _not_ its lackey. Make no mistake, Lady Vivienne. I do seek the truth."

Vivienne regarded her with a knowing look. "Are you certain you're not a Seeker in disguise? The Inquisition of old was led by those who became the Seekers of Truth."

"By virtue of the now gutted Nevarran Accords." The Herald gravely added. Gesturing toward the War Room, Sian stressed, "A Seeker, perhaps the last of the true Seekers, _is_ leading us."

Vivienne laughed seductively. "My dear, we both know _that_ isn't true. Lady Cassandra may have declared the Inquisition reborn, but the people gathering here speak your name – no other. They look to you now for guidance."

"I know my place, Madame de Fer." Sian pulled herself to her full height, softly glowering at the sophisticated woman. "I may be the face – but Seeker Pentaghast and Sister Leliana are the beating heart of it. The Maker has work for us. That is very clear to me and I intend to see it through. It also clear that the Circles of Magi have failed and the Templars have abdicated any responsibility they ever carried for making things right. I believe the Chantry should be saved for the sake of the people. But it is, as you pointed out so eloquently at your salon, "in shambles" and it will have to change. Business as usual will simply not cut it. The events of this past year… these past months - have changed the world as we know it."

Vivienne smiled softly, her hands cupped behind her back and leaned slightly toward the Herald. "Time will tell if that is, as you see it, the truth. But step lightly, Herald of Andraste. Remember that Divine Justinia attempted changes all too quickly – we live with a harsh reality as a result of them."

"Perhaps – we shall see." Looking directly into Vivienne's eyes, Sian spoke in a deadly soft tone, "For now, your significant abilities, your obvious charm and such power as you wield are most welcome. But understand. I am no pawn in your Great Game. Do not think me a fool, Madame de Fer."

"Of course not, darling," The mage responded coyly, tapping her full lips with a long, elegant nail. "I've stolen enough of your time, my dear. Don't let me keep you."

"Most gracious of you, Lady Vivienne." Smile firmly in place, the Herald bowed with a courtly flourish. "I bid you a pleasant evening."

The Enchanter watched as Sian left, _"Nice that you have manners – and sharp teeth, my dear. I am certain you will need them."_

Sian headed toward her quarters shaking her head to clear it. The encounter with Madame de Fer was just a bit much. At the moment, she craved the candor of Cassandra's company and found herself very tempted to check in. But, as she recalled her melancholy in the War Room it was more likely that the Seeker needed some time to herself, so the Herald resisted the urge. Instead, she had a thought. _Sister Nightingale_.

XXX

Leliana paced, her hands clasped behind her back as she digested unwelcome news. "So it's true. Butler has turned on us. I hoped my hunch was wrong."

The agent attending her dared ask, "You knew him well?"

Leliana practically spat as she answered him, a snarl on her lips. "Not as well as I thought. Show me the reports." Her gloved hands shook as she read the proffered notes. "There were so many questions surrounding Farrier's death. Did he think we wouldn't notice? He's killed Farrier, one of my best agents and knows where the others are. " Nightingale felt pained by the knowledge, but determined. Her voice was coolly edged as she issued her orders. "You know what must be done. Make it clean – painless if you can. We were friends once."

"Wait. What are you doing?" The Herald's voice echoed in the confines of the tent.

Leliana pivoted sharply. "He betrayed us. He murdered my agent!"

"And you'd kill him – just like that!" Sian questioned, eyes narrowed, grimacing.

"You find fault with my decision?" The Spymaster crossed her arms defensively, her eyes granite hard.

"I have complete faith in your decisions. But this is extreme. Find another way." Sian held her hands out, palms up. "Unless he is untouchable for some reason, bring him to stand trial. Make whatever you do – just."

Leliana shook her head defiantly and paced to face Sian. Her voice raised in passion, she nearly exploded. "Extreme! Butler's betrayal put our agents in danger. I condemn one man to save dozens." She turned to the noble, her tongue needle-sharp. "I may not like what I do – but it must be done. I cannot afford the luxury of ideals at a time like this."

The Herald regarded her evenly, her thumbs tucked into the sides of her utility belt. "Now is precisely the time for ideals."

The words struck Leliana. This was the heart of it she realized. But, she had a carefully crafted persona to uphold and it outraged her that one of her own could turn on her and his fellow agents. Ten years, maybe even five years past she would have preferred mercy. Now, mercy was in short supply- at least there seemed to be none when she needed it. It flamed her that this noble could waltz in and create such a conflict within her. She crossed her arms and glared at the Herald.

The Spymaster's eyes bored into the Herald as Sian propped herself against a tent pole and calmly studied her nails. Sighing deeply, the noble crossed her arms and engaged the narrowed eyes upon her. Nonchalantly, Sian ventured, "Do you think your beloved would approve of such a tactic?"

The verbal feint paid off. Leliana backed up, incredulous. "That is not fair! She would…" Her eyes began to soften as she snorted with sudden amusement. "She would not." Nightingale had to stifle a laugh. Sian was no foolish child – she knew how the game was played. "That is blackmail."

Offering the Spymaster a gentle smile, Sian chuckled. "I try to be fair, but sometimes justice demands a bit of coercion."

"Touché." Months of anguish seemed to dissolve. Maker, she missed her love, her very heart! It felt like the light of the world had dimmed in her absence. Yet, this woman before her had reminded her that it still burned. The Hero had gone to the Deep Roads to ensure it would continue to for a very long time. She felt her hope rekindle. Sighing, she turned to her scout. "Apprehend Butler, but see that he lives." She felt her smile reach her eyes as the scout departed. "You remember the Hero of Ferelden from your time in Denerim, yes?"

"That's right." Sian casually crossed her legs. "You were both there together." I saw you fight through the city – well, until I was wounded at the gates of Fort Drakon." Tracing a finger over the scar through her right eyebrow, she continued. "Then again at the King's victory banquet. You sang. You seemed deliriously happy. Do you know where she is?"

Closing her eyes Leliana pictured it, laughing and singing – her voice carefree in the hall's candlelight, safe in her warden's arms. She had never been happier than she was in those moments before the misery of separation and the troubles of Thedas intervened. Tears settled on her lashes, then leaked to her temples as thoughts of Aryn Cousland struggling to end the Calling paraded past her mind's eye. "Not precisely. My love is on a quest of her own. She's always in my thoughts. Even when we are far apart. When the Inquisition has no further need of me, I will join her. For good this time. I have lost enough. I will not lose her as well."

Apparently moved, Sian gripped her upper arm. "I will keep faith with you that we can end this and that she will come home to you soon."

Dabbing her eyes with the back of her hand, the former bard produced a gentle chuckle tinged with a hint of irony. "Thank you for your kindness, and for saving me from myself – twice now. It seems I owe you..."

"Nothing… you owe me nothing." Sian told her. "But I did come to ask a favor."

The Herald had been generous with her compassion. The woman was so chivalrous it was a wonder someone hadn't fallen for her. Leliana resigned herself to being won over by the noble's charm. "I am at your service, of course."

"In Val Royeaux there were Templars, but no signs of the Seekers. Would it be possible to look into it, maybe track down any still out there?" Sian stood, her expression hopeful.

 _Ah – the Seekers._ That would mean "The Seeker". Leliana thought she detected hints of something between the two. Perhaps it was simply friendship, but there was a tenderness about the Herald's face as she asked. The Spymaster pressed. "This is for Cassandra, yes?"

"For the good of the Inquisition." Sian claimed, blushing and looking away. She sighed as she looked back up, her admission soft. "But yes. It is chiefly for Cassandra."

"It is an honorable request. It would ease our friend to find them. I can make no promises – but I will do my best." Leliana agreed. Realizing she'd forgotten something, she turned to her workbench, beckoning Sian to her side. A message had arrived for the Herald while she was in Val Royeaux. "I received a reply from Ostwick while you were away," she informed her as she handed her a small still sealed message.

Sian accepted it, broke the seal and immediately began to read. Leliana noticed her hands begin to tremble as she finished and laid it on the bench. The noble supported herself against the table, head hung to her chest, obscuring her expression. There was no sobbing, no audible weeping, but streams of tears began to wash the Herald's cheeks and her shoulders quaked with the effort of holding it in.

Leliana reached to comfort the Herald, her grip gentle. "I can send a message back if they wish."

The noble softly replied. "What they wish cannot be accommodated by raven."

"What does it say?" Leliana canted her head to look into Sian's eyes, brushing a stray lock back from her forehead for a better view.

"They love me, have faith in me – they miss me. What they wish…" Sian's voice broke with pain and the weight of her family's request, "…is for me to bring Brigid home, if I can."

Leliana felt herself transform into a semblance of her former, kinder self. She had lost so much, been so miserable, that she'd forgotten that many others suffered too. Quietly, she embraced the anguished Herald. Tomorrow they would deal with the mages, but now was the moment to face their grief.

 _A/N – Thanks to everyone reading and for the helpful reviews and pms. Special thanks to Wyles77 for allowing me to borrow Aryn Cousland, her incredible warden._


	7. Chapter 6 - Forewarned is Forearmed

Chapter 6 – Forewarned is Forearmed

The late autumn sky was grey and the winds whisking through the Hinterlands carried a trace of snow as the contingent from Haven marched toward the scout camp near Redcliffe. Discreetly, Sian watched the Left and Right Hands of the Divine walking side by side just a stone's throw away. It was easy to picture the two of them gallivanting about Thedas, toiling away at extending the Divine's reach just as Cassandra told her – giving, taking, beckoning and, when necessary, making a fist. Both were animated as they talked, heads close – every stride in step with each other.

Leliana's voice carried to her ears like the tinkle of soft chimes. Enigmatic, mysterious, fluidly quick and lethal as an adder, she was the perfect embodiment of a Spymaster. Yet, she had shown real empathy the night before as Sian finally confronted Brigid's death. As the former bard held her, soothed her and shared her own pain, the noble began to appreciate Leliana's patience and kindness. She'd lost a sister – but in that kinship of grief had gained one of another sort.

She heard Cassandra suddenly laugh – a rarity that brought a smile to Sian's face. From her vantage, she could study the Seeker. She admired the contrasts the woman represented: light and dark, sacred and profane; power and compassion; hard angles and soft curves. She watched enraptured as Leliana reached over and casually dusted snowflakes from Cassandra's neck. For just a moment, she was envious. Focusing on the bare skin just over the Seeker's collar, she felt a longing to taste that exact spot. Sian shook her head, trying to return to less intimate thoughts while truly acknowledging that her feelings for Cassandra were not, in any way shape or form – sisterly.

She needed to focus. They had work to do. But the more she thought of it, the more she realized that if they acquired the help of the mages and managed to close the Breach, the Inquisition would soon have no need of her services. Perhaps it would be best not to allow herself to consider any possibilities with the Seeker. In any event, Cassandra hadn't indicated any interest, despite Varric's crazy notions. _Yes, best to let it go_.

XXX

About mid-morning they arrived at the Inquisition camp outside of Redcliffe. Swiftly, a decision was made to keep the party visiting the mages small so as not to appear threatening. With Cassandra, Varric and Solas in tow, Sian led them to the gates of the village. Of course, the day would have been incomplete without the presence of, what turned out to be, a particularly nasty rift. As the Herald closed the thing, she realized that it felt odd. Cassandra observed that it felt like time itself had stopped and started. Was that even possible? Sian wasn't sure but it made her nape itch. Wary, they approached the gates, halting long enough to speak with a scout just inside.

The soldier seemed discomfited as he reported the situation. "We spread word of the Inquisition's impending arrival, Herald, but no one was expecting us."

"No one?" Sian was incredulous. Rubbing her chin thoughtfully, she questioned the scout. "Not even the Grand Enchanter?"

"If she was – she told no one."

Breathless, a rebel mage ran up, stopped and gave a short bow to the party. "Apologies! Magister Alexius is in charge now but hasn't arrived as of yet. He's expected any time now. If you wish to see him, you may wait at the Gull and Lantern Tavern." Helpfully, he added, "You could speak with the former Grand Enchanter in the meantime."

Magister. The word pulled Sian up short. It could mean only one thing – Tevinter. She had spent many long days in the north watches of Ostwick repelling incursions of miscreants from that country. They always seemed to be looking for something and Sian had long postulated that the something was the missing slaves her father harbored. The small bands always seemed to be mages and troops bearing the heraldry of some unknown Magister. Looking up, she shared a glance with the Seeker. As their eyes met, the Herald recognized agreement. This was a troubling development.

"Send a runner to the Outskirts Camp immediately. I want this reported to Sister Leliana without delay." Sian commanded the scout, then turned to her party. "Thoughts anyone?"

"Smells worse than last week's catch. I just wonder if, His Ebullience, King Alistair, is aware of this." Varric unslung Bianca and checked the tension bolt, giving her a quick pat before he returned her to his back. "What could a Magister hope to gain?"

"An excellent point, Varric." Solas stepped to Sian, his eyes thoughtful.

Cassandra joined him. "If he is now in charge, then where is Arl Teagan? The man steadfastly refused to abandon his lands during the blight – even when they were under siege. I cannot possibly imagine him allowing a Tevinter Magister any authority over Redcliffe." Squinting, she surveyed the area swiftly. "I see no sign of Tevinter troops. However, that does not mean there are none. It would be wise to check the docks for activity."

Sian regarded her companions, "I know I don't need to ask that you be on your guard. But something is definitely wrong here. I say we proceed – but carefully. If Sulevin is unsheathed, prepare to fight and rendezvous at camp." She then turned to the Inquisition troops nearby. "Be ready to have our backs if there's trouble."

As they made their way to the Lake Calenhad docks there was no sign of Tevinters. But as they approached the quay, Sian spied a young mage with a restless look about him. She looked to Cassandra and nodded questioningly toward the distressed figure.

The Seeker leaned to her. "I believe that is Connor, Arl Eamon's son."

"The one at the center of the trouble here during the Blight?" Sian's eyebrows quirked as she studied him.

"The same." Cassandra confirmed.

Curious, Sian approached him. "Are you Connor?"

"Yes - and you are the one they call the Herald of Andraste." The young man sighed. "You've heard the story, I guess?" His voice was weary and filled with regret as he spoke. "I can't believe King Alistair thought Redcliffe was the right place to send the mages. I mean he grew up here. Did he think people would just forget what I did to them – the trouble I caused?"

"Connor, I'm not here to dreg up the past. I'm concerned about Redcliffe." Sian saw the despair written in his eyes. "Tell me what's happened here."

"I was living in the Ferelden Tower when the circles dissolved. I voted against it, but… At first, it seemed all right. No one was summoning demons. They just wanted to oversee themselves. But then the Magister came and… It's wrong what they do in Tevinter. We are monsters. We need to be controlled. If it wasn't for me every family in this village wouldn't be missing a son, a daughter, a spouse." The mage seemed fragile, perhaps even broken by the events of the past.

"Where is your uncle?" She gently prodded him.

Looking at his feet, he told her. "That Magister threw my Uncle out into the street. He signed us into servitude. This is my home. Redcliffe. Ferelden. No matter what evils I've done, I would never have invited Tevinter here."

"Where are this Magister's troops?" Sian knew the Arl would only have been removed by force.

"At the castle." Connor pointed to the structure in the distance. "I've seen none in the village."

"Thank you, Connor."

The former heir to Redcliffe gripped her arm as Sian turned to leave, his voice ringing with desperation. "Please talk some sense into the Grand Enchanter. Selling out to the Imperium won't win us any friends. We have to find a way to make peace. "

Sian covered his hand with her own and pledged. "I will do everything in my power to stop this."

The Herald led the way toward the Gull and Lantern with the Seeker at her side. Though there were no troops in the village that didn't mean that there was no trap waiting to spring. But, it was a relief to know that the villagers weren't likely to see open warfare in the streets.

Upon entry, Sian discovered that the Gull and Lantern was like every other tavern she'd ever been in with the possible exception of the distinct chill in the air. A waft of stale ale assaulted her nose and the straw covered floor muffled the click of her boots as the party sought out the Grand Enchanter. They found her pacing near a table in the back of the common room.

"Welcome, Agents of the Inquisition." Fiona intoned as she spied them. "What has brought you to Redcliffe?"

"You did invite us? Did you not?" Sian politely inquired, forcing herself to relax as she spoke. "You extended an offer of the mage's assistance in Val Royeaux."

The Grand Enchanter seemed perplexed and genuinely surprised. "That isn't possible. I haven't been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave."

"If it wasn't you – then who was it?"

The elf gripped a nearby table, her face drained. "I… I don't know. Now that you say it, I feel… strange." Recovering somewhat she straightened. "Whoever, whatever brought you here, the situation has changed. The free mages have already pledged themselves to the service of the Tevinter Imperium."

Varric piped up. "Wow. The Tevinter Imperium – what a great idea! How's that working out for you?"

"Do you not fear all of Thedas turning on you?" Cassandra bristled, her fingers tapping the hilt of her sword.

Fiona seemed dazed. "As one indentured to a Magister, I no longer have the authority to negotiate with you."

Sian leveled a withering gaze at the mage. "You do know what this means, right? You understand that the freedom you worked so hard to win is gone. You've given it away!"

At that moment, she heard a rich baritone behind her. "Welcome, my friends. I apologize for not greeting you earlier."

The former Grand Enchanter stepped back. "Agents of the Inquisition, allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius."

Magister Alexius smiled as he studied Sian, his tone patriarchal, patronizing as he spoke. "The southern mages are now under my command. And you are the survivor, yes? The one who returned from the fade? Interesting."

His authoritative air didn't sit well with the Herald. She'd met dozens of men like this in her lifetime. Men who believed if they talked a certain way and acted a certain way that they could control others. Refusing to rise to the poisonous alchemy, she cut to the chase. "So, the mages are now conveniently indentured. To you."

"For their own well-being, I assure you. They have no legal status in the Imperium. As their protector, I will oversee their work. You see – they must work for ten years to gain full rights." Slightly leaning toward the Herald, he told her in a low voice, "Of course, this has been an expensive venture. After they are properly trained, they will join our legion."

Fiona seemed to have recovered and overheard his comment. "You said not all my people would be military. There are children, those not suited to –"

Pivoting swiftly, he glared at her. "And one day I'm sure they will all be productive citizens of the Imperium."

Privately Sian wondered if Fiona realized what her own fate would be in Tevinter. Didn't she know that to be an elf in the Imperium pretty much guaranteed a life of slavery? She seriously doubted that the elf mage would have agreed to any of this willingly and suspected Alexius of casting some spell or glamour that must have compromised her. The Herald cleared her throat. "When was this arrangement made?"

Charm laced with pity adorned the Magister's voice as he focused his attention to the Herald. "After the tragedy of the Conclave, the Templars brutally rushed to attack them. It could only be through divine providence that I arrived in such a timely manner."

Disdain dripping from her tongue, Fiona noted. "It was certainly timely."

Still concerned for the Arl, Sian coolly stated. "I haven't seen any sign of the Arl of Redcliffe – or his guard."

Alexius waved his hand as if shooing a fly. "The Arl left the village."

Sian felt her ears redden at the falsehood. Cassandra stepped to her side, and gently placed her palm on The Herald's forearm as she lightly snorted. "I do not believe that likely, Magister."

The feel of Cassandra's hand on her arm was comforting. Sian felt the cache of power the Seeker was holding ready to dispel the Magister's tricks and it calmed her.

"There were tensions growing." Alexius seemed genuinely nervous as he made his admission. "I did not want an incident."

"An interesting course in that case." Sian directed her gaze at him. "In any event, I need the mage's assistance to close the Breach."

The Magister seated himself at the table and gestured toward the chair facing him. "Please, join me." Waving to a well-dressed young man who had been silent, but vigilant, during their conversation, he made a request. "Felix, would you send for a scribe, please?" Quickly he introduced the man, who elegantly bowed to the Herald and her party. "Pardon my manners. My son, Felix, friends." Returning to the business at hand, Alexius made a frank observation. "I'm not surprised you're here. Containing the breach is not a feat that many could even attempt. There is no telling how many mages would be needed for such an endeavor. Ambitious, indeed."

"Will you lend your mages to our cause?" Sian asked him bluntly.

Alexius seemed to be considering the notion when suddenly Felix reeled near Sian. She snapped to her feet just in time to catch him as he appeared to faint. Just before he closed his eyes, he directed them to his hand, then pressed a note into her palm.

The Magister reacted quickly, leaping to his son's aid. "Felix! Are you all right?!"

Righting himself, Felix apologized. "I'm fine, father. I don't mean to trouble everyone."

The Magister gently supported his son. "Come. I'll get your powders. Please excuse us, friends. We will have to continue this at a later hour. Fiona, I require your assistance back at the castle." As Fiona attended him, he turned to Sian. "I shall send word to your camp when I am available. We can conclude this business then."

As the door clicked shut, Cassandra quickly inquired. "What does it say?"

Sian unfolded the note and read aloud. "Come to the Chantry. You are in danger."

Varric chortled. "Oooh. So mysterious! This just keeps getting better and better."

"Anything could be awaiting us at the Chantry. It could be anyone or anything." Solas sagely observed.

"Well, there's only one way to find out." Sian ran a hand through her dark hair. "Let's go see – shall we?"

XXX

The Chantry appeared to be quiet, but as Sian opened the great door and entered, she was greeted by the sight of a lone man fighting a horde of demons. She stood transfixed and the door boomed closed behind her as she watched him swiftly and single-handedly dispatching the horde.

Deftly flicking his bladed staff into the last terror, he drolly noted her presence. "Good. You've finally arrived. Be so kind as to close this thing would you?"

Shrugging as she admired his neat work, Sian stepped forward and shut the rift down.

As the sickly green light waned, the mage stepped forward, rubbing his chin in wonder. "Fascinating. How does that work exactly? You don't even know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! Rift closes."

He sounded for all the world like a cock-sure little prat, but he had just killed off a fairly large passel of demons alone. Sian scratched her head and considered him with curiosity. "And you are?"

"Ah. Getting ahead of myself again, I see. Dorian of House Pavus, most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?" He nodded civilly and brushed a mote from his spotless mantle.

Cassandra shifted her shield to her shoulder but still gripped her longsword. "Another Tevinter. Be cautious with this one."

Dorian leaned into his staff with a melodramatic groan. "Suspicious friends you have here. Magister Alexius was once my mentor, so my assistance should be invaluable – as I'm sure you can imagine."

Sian had met, and questioned a number of Tevinter mages in her work back home and they had all proven to be tedious and over-reaching, but this man had flair and charisma. Amongst the flock she had previously met, this man would be a peacock among crows. Though he struck her as unique, she still proceeded with caution. "I was expecting Felix to be here."

Still preening, Dorian was quick to inform her. "I'm certain he's on his way. He was to give you the note, then meet us here after ditching his father."

"He pretended to faint. The Magister couldn't get to him quickly enough it seemed. Is Felix truly unwell?"

"He's had some lingering illness for months. Alexius is a mother hen when it comes to his only child. He may be having difficulties escaping his father's ministrations."

The escapade cooked up between Felix and Dorian piqued Sian's curiosity. They seemed to have gone to great lengths to speak with her. "So…? "

Dorian sighed heavily and interrupted. "All right! Let's say this once. I'm a mage from Tevinter. But not a member of the Magisterium." Disdainfully, he took on a lecturing tone. "I know you southerners use the terms interchangeably, but that only makes you sound like barbarians."

Sian raised her eyebrows and chuckled indulgently. "Well, that clarity is very helpful I'm sure. But actually I was going to ask why you have chosen to betray your mentor?"

"Oh." The mage cleared his throat and had the decency to blush a tiny bit before regaining his superior attitude. "Alexius was my mentor, meaning he's not any longer – not for some time." His eyes telegraphed real concern as he explained. "Look. You must know there's danger. That should be obvious even without the note. Let's start with Alexius claiming the mages right out from under you." Dorian leaned on his staff as his offhand trailed the room. "Magical – wouldn't you say? He distorted time to arrive here before the Inquisition could arrive."

Remembering Cassandra's comment, Sian closed her eyes and pictured the rift at the gate. "He does something to the rifts – or with the rifts. He managed to alter time so he could be here right after the Divine's death."

"Exactly so. You catch on quick." Dorian clucked with approval. "The rift here. The one you just closed. You saw how it twisted time around itself, sped some things up – slowed others down. Soon there will be more like it and they'll appear further and further away from Redcliffe. The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable – and it's unraveling the world."

Sian rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "Magical time control?"

Dorian's voice was grave, his eyes serious. "I know what I'm talking about. I helped develop this magic. When I was still his apprentice, it was pure theory, Alexius could never get it to work. What I don't understand is why he's doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys? It doesn't add up."

Boot heels resounded on the marble floor as Felix arrived. "It's somewhat more complicated than that – he didn't do it for them."

"Felix." The mage chided gently as he strode to his friend's side. "Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?"

"No." Felix smiled weakly. "Though I shouldn't have played the illness card. I thought he'd be fussing over me all day." The young man turned to Sian. "I never would have believed my father would do this – but he's joined a cult of Tevinter Supremacists. They call themselves "Venatori". And I can tell you one thing: whatever he's doing for them, he's done it to get to you."

Cassandra moved to Sian's side protectively. "Why would you work against your own father?" She growled.

Felix stood his ground unarmed without flinching. "For the same reason Dorian works against him. I love my father and I love my country. But this? Cults? Time magic? This is madness. For his own sake you must stop him."

"It would also be very nice if he didn't rip a hole in time." Dorian rolled his eyes at the Seeker. "There's already a hole in the sky."

Cassandra snorted and relaxed but maintained her proximity. Sian smiled and clandestinely winked at her as the Seeker sheathed her weapon, disarming her on a different level.

"I don't understand." The Herald returned her attention to the two Tevinters. "Why would he go to all of this trouble? Why rearrange time and indenture the mages just to get to me?"

Clasping his hands behind his back, Felix looked at her sympathetically. "They're obsessed with you. I don't know why. Perhaps because you survived the Conclave? But if the Venatori are behind those rifts, or the Breach in the sky – they're even worse than I imagined."

Dorian pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose. "You can close rifts. Maybe there's a connection? Or maybe they see you as a threat?"

"I suppose either could be true." Sian admitted. Standing quietly, she considered the two men. It seemed hard to believe that they would take her side against their fellow countrymen but they appeared to be very sincere in doing exactly that thing. Her gut said trust them – so she went with it. "All right. We need a plan."

Dorian rested his head on his staff. Apparently, for all of his bluff and bluster he'd been worried that she wouldn't believe him. He looked up, relief in his eyes. "You know you're his target. Expecting the trap is the first step to turning it to your advantage. I don't want Alexius to know I'm here and I want to keep it that way for now. You are camped outside of the village, yes? I'll meet you there." Straightening, he pivoted elegantly to depart. As he walked away, his smirked at his friend, "Oh. And Felix? Try not to get yourself killed."

Sian heard Felix's soft retort and shuddered at the implications. "There are worse things than dying, Dorian."

XXX

Sian's squad arrived back at camp to find that Commander Cullen had arrived from Haven. Immediately, the Agents of the Inquisition gathered around a makeshift strategy table.

The Herald considered the faces around her, the air thick with expectation. She drew a deep breath and cracked her neck before opening the meeting with a quick summary for Cullen and Leliana detailing their findings in Redcliffe.

Leliana handed her a message. "That would explain this. It arrived a short time ago. Alexius has invited you to meet with him at the castle." As Sian took the paper, the spymaster crossed her arms. "What do you think best?"

The Herald knew it would be the trap. She felt it in her bones as a surety. Gravely she answered. "I must go."

"Not without troops at your back!" Cullen seemed near apoplexy at the thought. "And Redcliffe – Redcliffe is one of the most defensible fortresses in Ferelden. It has repelled thousands of assaults. If you go there – you'll die. You are the only one who can close the rifts. The only one! I won't allow it!"

"I _must_ go." Sian stubbornly repeated as she crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow at him. "But you are right. I wasn't planning on storming the castle. I think it's time to think more creatively than that."

Cassandra spoke up quickly, "We need the mages and Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister. This cannot be allowed to stand."

The map spread before them was a recent blueprint of the castle. Leliana searched it, seeming to look for something obscure. Finding it, she grinned lethally. "Look at this." She pointed at a foundation still standing at the edge of the village. "I know this place. There is a secret passage here that leads to the castle. It was built as an escape route for the family many years ago. I know it well. It is too narrow for troops – but, I could send my agents through easily."

The Commander peered at her skeptically. "Too risky. Those agents would be discovered long before they reach the Magister."

"That is why the envoy is essential." The Spymaster pointed out. "Alexius wants it. He would be focused on meeting the Herald, not a silent invasion."

Sighing Cullen conceded. "It might work, but it's still risky."

"Fortunately, you'll have my help." Dorian's voice carried from the edge of the encampment. Inquisition troops stood in front of him, polearms crossed, barring his way. Apparently he'd amplified their voices and heard the plan. At a nod from the Herald the soldiers dropped their guard. Blithely the mage strode to Sian's side. "Your spies will never get past Alexius's magic without my help. So. If you're going after him, I'm coming along."

"I welcome your assistance, Dorian." Sian extended her arm and the Tevinter clasped it with a smug grin for Cassandra.

"I will be watching you, Tevinter." The Seeker scowled, stepping to Sian's side with her hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

"Of course you will." Dorian agreed, flashing her a charming smile.

Cullen watched the exchange and shook his head, then turned to Sian. "Are you sure about this?"

The Herald looked grim and her voice was resolute. "I am."


	8. Chapter 7 - Days of Future Past

_[A/N – I started this adventure expecting to wrap up in a single extended chapter but as the story began to unfold I decided to break it into two. So, this time around dear readers, you get a double portion of Mere Mortals. (I try not to leave cliffhangers – ugh.) Thanks to all who are reading, following and making this a favorite. Special appreciation to those who are reviewing. I am grateful for your feedback. To the guests who review please know I'm thankful for you and I wish I could reply via PM as I do registered readers. I hope you all enjoy this post!]_

Chapter 7 – Days of Future Past

Redcliffe Castle was one of the most imposing edifices Sian had ever seen. The enormous stronghold sat high on a stone foundation, its iron-bound doors protected by a heavy portcullis and flanking towers. Fortified by archer's turrets overlooking the approach, its courtyard was surrounded by thick walls with dense crenelated battlements. Surrounding the entire structure was a deep mote of redirected lake water reinforced by stonework ramparts. But, despite its formidable constitution, there appeared to be no troops stationed on the walls or in the courtyard within.

"Impressive." The Herald marveled at the architecture as she, Solas and Cassandra entered the fortress unchallenged. She'd realized it was defensible, but was amazed as she surveyed it up close. "It rivals Fort Drakon."

"It is old. I wonder what dreams one may find here." Solas seemed interested as well. "I understand that it has only ever fallen from within."

"That is true. Connor's story illustrates the point." Pivoting, Cassandra took several steps backwards to check behind them, then turned to Sian. "Odd that there are no guards in the gatehouse. I do not like it."

"Neither do I. But we knew it was a trap." Sian squinted and gestured to the open portcullis ahead. "I suspect that monstrosity will close the minute we pass through the keep doors. Makes me truly grateful that Leliana is on our side. Let's hope she's not delayed."

"Agreed." Cassandra nodded as they cleared the last of the stairway to the keep entrance. "Shall we see what lies within?"

Squaring her shoulders, The Herald straightened to her full height. Back erect, she led them into an elaborately decorated foyer, replete with the eye of the Maker embedded in the heavy timbers of the doors. Four Venatori stood at the foot of the stairs to the throne room staring at the new arrivals. After a long minute of waiting for the guards to welcome or escort them further, Sian became impatient. "Announce us!" She tersely commanded them.

Alexius's steward descended the stairs. "The Magister's invitation was for the Herald alone. The rest will wait here." His tone was insistent.

"Unacceptable." Sian responded bluntly. "Where I go – they go."

The steward stared at Sian seeming to consider engagement in a battle of wills. Wisely, he acquiesced. Nodding, he led them to the throne room with the guards trailing the party. "My Lord Magister. The Agents of the Inquisition have arrived."

As they entered, Alexius was indolently lounging on Arl Teagan's throne. Upon their approach he stood, attentive, hands spread wide in welcome, his voice slippery as oil. "My friend. It's so good to see you again… and your associates – of course. I'm sure we can work out some arrangement that is equitable to all parties."

"Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?" Fiona stepped to Sian's side, her husky voice penetrating and intense as she addressed the Magister.

Impatiently, he chided her. "Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives."

For a moment Sian considered the mage, somehow she seemed more aware, less dulled than she had at the Gull and Lantern. "If the Grand Enchanter wishes to be part of these talks, then I welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition."

Fiona managed to look chagrined and grateful at the same time. "Thank you."

"Very well." Sighing indulgently, the Magister returned to his seat, casually crossing his legs. "The Inquisition needs mages to close the breach and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?"

Sian pursed her lips. She valued true diplomacy – but this was a mockery. She knew full well that Alexius had no intent to negotiate and neither did she. All she really needed to do was stall him. Tucking her thumbs in her belt, she levelly answered. "In light of the fact that you would prefer me dead, how about – I let you keep your life and return home in peace? I'd say that was fair, wouldn't you?"

A short laugh burst from the Magister's lips. "You are presumptuous. But you are also quite right. Though when it comes to bargaining for life, the onus is on you."

Felix swiftly stepped from behind the throne, his face tense. "She knows everything, Father."

"Felix? What have you done?" Alexius shook his head in disbelief.

Sian crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Your son is concerned that you're involved in something terrible."

"So says the thief. Do you think you can turn my son against me?" Nostrils flared, Alexius slapped his grip on the edge of an ornate throne rest and stood up. As he spoke his tongue dripped with venom. "You walk into my stronghold with your stolen mark, a gift you don't even understand and think you're in control? You're nothing but a mistake."

"This -." Sian gestured, sweeping her arm in an arc about the room, "is not your stronghold. You evicted the rightful owner, remember?" Nonchalantly, she continued. "As to the Mark. If you know so much – enlighten me. Tell me of its purpose."

"Hah!" The Magister barked. "It belongs to your betters. You wouldn't even begin to understand its purpose."

The Magister's only son eased toward him, his voice a plea. "Father, listen to yourself. Do you know what you sound like?"

As Alexius looked over his shoulder, grimacing, Dorian emerged from a darkened alcove into the throne room. "He sounds like the villainous cliché everyone expects from Tevinter's mages."

"Dorian." Alexius's head swiveled to address his former pupil. "I gave you a chance to be a part of this – you turned me down. The Elder One has power you would not believe. He will raise the Imperium from its own ashes. He will raise us to the greatness we deserve."

With Dorian's arrival, Sian knew Leliana and her agents would soon follow. She only needed to distract the Magister for a bit longer. Tensing her jaw, she drilled him, her eyes flashing. "Is that who you serve, the one who killed the Divine? Is he a mage?"

"Soon he will become a god." Alexius lectured, his tone reverential. "He will make the world bow to mages once more. We will rule from the Boric Ocean to the Frozen Seas."

"We knew nothing of this Elder One!" Hearing this plan for the first time set Fiona's defiance ablaze. "You can't involve my people in this!"

"Alexius." Dorian's face colored with trepidation, as he stepped next to Sian. "This is exactly what you and I talked about never wanting to happen. Why would you support this?"

Felix added his desperate voice in support of his friend. Urgently, he made his request. "Stop it, Father. Give up the Venatori. Let the southern mages fight the Breach and let us go home."

The Magister's eyes and voice were sorrowful. "No. It's the only way, Felix. He can save you."

Alexius's son gazed gently at his father. "Save me?"

Restive, the Magister enlightened him. "There is a way. The Elder One promised. If I undo the mistake from the Temple –"

"I'm going to die. You need to accept that." Felix cut him off with a resigned sigh.

Pointing at Sian, Alexius stalked to the edge of the dais and issued his orders as several more troops made an appearance. "Seize them, Venatori. The Elder One demands this woman's life."

Cassandra, Solas and Dorian closed behind Sian as Leliana's agents appeared from the shadows and rapidly dispatched the advancing Venatori guards.

Teeth clenched, the Herald prowled toward the Magister. "Your men are dead, Alexius."

Standing his ground, the Magister hissed, "You are a mistake. You should never have existed." His lips forming the words of an incantation, he slowly opened his hand and an amulet lifted from his palm with the odious green shimmer of a rift surrounding it.

Recognizing the lethal magic, Dorian struck out with his staff and the amulet whirled away, the magic dispelling into an emerald vortex.

Time shifted and Sian felt herself drawn into the thing. Strange sensations bombarded her, light waxed and waned as she spun and fell, landing on her hands and knees on a cold stone floor. The green light receded and she heard voices.

Venatori guards rushed toward her. "Blood of the Elder One! Where'd they come from?"

Reflexively, she reached for Sulevin, relieved when her hand found the hilt. The first guard fell with a sweeping stroke to his throat, the next rushed her and she sheathed the blade in his chest. As another joined the fray, Dorian stepped to her side and with a flick of his staff set the man on fire and cut him down.

Sian shook her head attempting to clear the rush of the fall, then she perused their surroundings. A sickly red glow permeated what appeared to be a dungeon.

Dorian shifted his staff and suavely smoothed his moustache. "Interesting. It's probably not what Alexius intended, the rift must have moved us to the closest confluence of arcane energy."

Further exploration of the area revealed that much of the light was emanating from monstrous chunks of red lyrium that littered the dungeon as far as The Herald's eyes could see. The same carved Mabari sconces present in Redcliffe's great hall held lit torches spewing soot against thick blackened posts. "This _is_ the dungeon. The last thing I remember was being in the throne room."

"Let's see." The mage tilted his head, impatiently tapping his staff and frowning at the decor. "We are still in the castle. Of course, it's not simply where – it's when. Alexius used the amulet as a focus. It moved us through time."

"Did we go forward or back? And – how far?" Noticing the locked door ahead, Sian stooped to look for a key on the lead guard's body. "More importantly, _**is**_ there a way back?"

Dorian looked amused. "Those are excellent questions. We'll have to find out – won't we? Let's look around. Get a grip on our location. Then we can figure out how and if we can return."

As Sian's fingers deftly plucked the key from the Venatori's pocket, she glanced up. "I don't think his intent was to send me to jail. He seemed to have something somewhat more lethal in mind."

"Without a doubt." The mage gravely explained. "I suspect his original plan was to remove you from time completely. If he had managed, you would never have been at the Temple of Sacred Ashes to mangle his Elder One's plan. I think your surprise in the castle hall made him reckless. He tossed us into the rift before he was ready. I countered it, the magic went wild and poof - here we are. Make sense now?"

"It makes as much sense as anything else I've encountered since the Conclave." The Herald ran her fingers threw her soaked hair, wrinkling her nose at the stench of moldy water. "Do you think any of the others were drawn in?"

"Doubtful. It simply wasn't big enough and Alexius wouldn't risk himself or Felix getting caught in it. They are likely in this when, the question would be – where?" Dorian rolled his eyes with exasperation for his former mentor. "I don't even want to think about what this will do to the fabric of the world. We didn't so much as travel through time as punch a hole in it and toss it into the privy. But don't worry. I'm here – I'll protect you."

Her hand firmly pressed around her sword's grip, Sian smiled bleakly, glad the man wasn't lacking for confidence – and courage. "I'm less concerned with protection than I am your ability to puzzle this out. You have a plan to get us back I hope?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." The mage told her, his even white teeth gleaming in the gloom. "They're lovely little thoughts – like little jewels."

Truly appreciative of his expertise and grateful for his assistance, Sian decided then and there that despite his origin, she actually trusted him. He saved her life in the throne room and his self-assurance was infectious, buoying her hope of escape.

After unlocking the dungeon entry, she led them through the rank, flooded lower floors of the cellblock. As they proceeded, no Venatori appeared to slow them down and they moved quickly to a mildewed stairwell. Her mind wandered back to her conversation with Solas at Haven and to the Magister's comments. There seemed to be a connection. Softly she whispered to Dorian. "Alexius mentioned an Elder One. Do you have any idea who he was talking about?"

His voice was low but melodic as he shared his theory with a shrug. "The leader of the Venatori I suspect. Some Magister aspiring to godhood. It's the same old tune. Let's play with magic we don't understand - it will make us incredibly powerful. Evidently, it doesn't matter if you rip apart the fabric of time in the process."

Stealthily they negotiated the stairs. As they cleared the last steps, they could see an iron gate leading to a causeway that wound up, the direction they needed to go. A squad of Venatori patrolled the area. Sian motioned with her chin toward the unwitting guards. "Care to make some ice?"

"It is a bit warm down here, isn't it?" Dorian chuckled. "Nothing would delight me more."

The mage cast an impressive wall of ice, capturing the guards in the process. Grimly, Sian employed Sulevin, shattering their lives along with the frozen water. Trying her key in the barred causeway door proved to be a disappointment. Quickly she checked the bodies on the landing, but there were no more keys to be found. Looking to her companion, she sighed. "Doesn't work. We're going to have to check the other cell block to see if we can find the right one."

Descending an alternate stairwell, they soon located a corridor lined with doorways leading further into the dank prison. Sian tried the first one. Rows of cells filled with more red lyrium lay ahead. She began to turn back and heard a whimper from a cell further in. Her investigation revealed a sight that horrified her. The helpless sound issued from Fiona.

Though she wasn't certain, it looked like red lyrium was growing from, and at the same time encasing, the Grand Enchanter. The elf was frozen in a standing position, her head wearily resting on an immobile hand. She raised her head, eyes scarlet from contact with the stuff. "You are alive! I saw you disappear into the rift."

"What has been done to you?" Sian grappled with what might free the mage and instinctively tightened her grip on Sulevin. "What does this madness accomplish?"

"The longer you are near it – eventually you become this… Then they mine your corpse for more," she explained, her head lolling back to her hand.

Gently, Dorian pressed her. "Can you tell us the date? It's very important."

The elf could barely breathe, but she managed to rasp an answer. "Harvestmere 9:42 Dragon."

Dorian gasped. "9:42? Then we've missed an entire year!"

Moved to pity by the sight of Fiona's fate and the sudden realization that every pillar of red lyrium they saw was a victim, Sian fought the urge to wretch. "We've got to go back to our own time, Dorian!"

The Grand Enchanter's plea was urgent, but weak. "Please stop this from happening! Alexius serves the Elder One – more powerful than the Maker… no one challenges him and lives."

The Herald's jaw worked. "We will do all that we can to make sure this never comes to pass!"

"If we hope to accomplish that, then our only chance is to find that amulet Alexius used. If it still exists I can use it to re-open the rift at the exact spot we left. Maybe." Dorian seemed to be moved by the elf's plight.

"Good." Fiona coughed.

"I said – maybe. It might also turn us into paste." The mage grimaced.

"You must try!" The elf wheezed with the effort of speaking. "Your spymaster, Leliana. She is here. Find her, quickly – before the Elder One learns you're here."

It haunted Sian to leave the Grand Enchanter trapped in the poisonous lyrium, but the noble knew there was nothing she could do for her except press to their goal. At the main corridor, she and Dorian began checking doors again searching for Leliana. Several of the doors led to darkened, cobwebbed chambers, empty except for vermin. At an intersection to a lichen covered lower chamber she opened a door that looked like it led only to more darkness, but she heard a voice from within.

Readying herself for a fight, she entered and familiar words echoed in her ears. Her heart leapt to her throat. Cassandra was praying. "The light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world and into the next…"

Moving into the damp cell block, Sian tried to ready herself for what she might find. Her hands shook and her pulse quickened as her feet led her to the Seeker's cell. Reverently, she chanted the next line hoping to comfort the Seeker. "For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water."

"The voice of Sian Trevelyan? It cannot be." She heard Cassandra murmur feverishly.

Fumbling, she opened the lock and stepped in to find the Seeker slumped against the back wall. "Cassandra…" she whispered tenderly, stooping to her side. Her head was bowed to her chest. Gently Sian lifted her chin and hissed softly. "What have they done to you?"

The woman's skin was grey and her extraordinary eyes were sunken and bloodshot, gleaming with a scarlet light. She looked weakened and near death. But, as her name registered, she gazed up and found her voice. "You've returned to us! Can it be? Has Andraste given us another chance?"

Sian snaked her arm behind the Seeker's upper back to support her, but her head dropped to the noble's shoulder. "Let me help you."

Cassandra seemed to be talking to herself, her voice delirious and filled with despair. "Maker, forgive me. I have failed you. I failed everyone. The end must truly be upon us – if the dead return to life."

The Nevarran's face was drawn with fatigue and her skin was searing to the touch. With her free hand Sian retrieved a vial of healing potion from her belt and uncorked it with her teeth. "Cassandra, drink this. It will help."

The Herald touched the vial to the Seeker's lips, but she was slow to taste the restorative concoction. Patiently, Sian held the vial in place as Cassandra finally sipped it dry. Putting the empty bottle aside, she held her close as she waited for the potion to take effect.

 _Maker help her._ Sian closed her eyes and rested her forehead against Cassandra's temple - waiting. Feeling a featherlight touch to her cheek, she looked again to find the Seeker gazing at her fondly, a fevered hand stroking her face in wonder. "It truly _is_ you."

"Yes. It is." Relieved to find Cassandra alive, she allowed herself to lean into the caress.

"But I saw you die. I was there – the Magister obliterated you with a gesture." Seeming to seek confirmation, Cassandra gripped Sian's arms, then took her hand and gently traced the dim glow of the Mark.

Sian felt her face flush and clamped her jaw. "I should have been here. I should have stopped this."

"The only thing that matters is that you are here now." Cassandra looked to her, her eyes filled with hope and affection, and repeated her vow from Val Royeaux, "I will follow where you lead."

Stepping into the cell, Dorian handed Sian another vial of potion. "Alexius sent us forward in time. If we find him, we may be able to return to the present."

The Seeker's brows lifted and she sighed as some of her strength seemed to return. Sian supported her as she sat up. "Go back in time? Then, can you make it so that none of this ever took place?"

"That is our intent. We found Fiona and she told us that Leliana lives. We need to find her." Sian braced the Seeker's body as she drank the proffered potion and struggled to stand.

"It is likely that she is close. Solas is in the cell across from this one." Still weak, but recovering, Cassandra was on her feet. "If he lives, he will want to assist."

Dorian shot Sian an assessing look and arched his eyebrow knowingly. "We surely wouldn't want to deprive him of such a rich opportunity. Let me see if I can get him on his feet – while you two get, um… reacquainted."

Blushing at his observation, the noble stared at her feet. Cassandra had responded to her touch, to her presence. Perhaps there was something between them in the present after all. But even if that were true, anything here wouldn't matter if they didn't make it back to the proper time.

"Alexius's master…" The Seeker articulated the words sorrowfully. "After you died we could not stop the Elder One from rising. Empress Celene was murdered, the army that swept in afterwards was a horde of demons. Nothing stopped them. Nothing."

Sian wasn't sure if the potion's effect would last, but the Seeker seemed to be stronger. Relief washed through her as she heard Solas approaching. "Can you reverse the process? It may be possible to return and obviate the events of the past year."

"That is the plan." Dorian told him dryly.

"This world is an abomination. It must never come to pass." Gesturing through the open door to the stairs beyond, the elven mage seemed to straighten. "We must go up. I've heard the guards say that Alexius has barricaded himself into the throne room."

"We need a gate key and we must find Leliana, then we can tackle getting to Alexius." Sian summarized her strategy as she studied her recently released companions.

Cassandra shared a determined glance with Solas. "We will go with you. There are many Venatori patrolling the main floor. You will need our help."

Concerned, Sian quickly offered them an out. "Are you certain? You've…"

Cassandra's red-rimmed eyes brightened. "Absolutely. It is the only chance we have and I will not shirk my duty to you or to the Inquisition. This must not come to pass if we can prevent it."

Those words were reinforced as they pressed through the eerie light of the dungeon and heard the deeply disturbing cacophony of torture ahead. Someone was being beaten, crying out in agony.

"How did Trevelyan know about the sacrifice in the Temple?!" A deep Tevinter voice demanded. "Answer!"

The unmistakable lilt of Leliana's voice vehemently denied him. "Never!"

The muffled thud of a club meeting muscle and bone resounded and Sian sprinted up the corridor. As she ran she could hear the conversation echo against the dripping stone walls.

The low voice spoke again menacingly, "There's no use in this defiance, little bird. There's no one left for you to protect."

The Spymaster laughed cynically, "You're wasting your breath!"

Dorian splintered the door to the torture chamber with a fireball and the squad entered, skidding to a halt as the former bard's torturer held a wickedly hooked knife to her cheek.

"Talk!" the Venatori commanded her, ready to slash. Hearing the Herald enter, he pivoted toward the door.

"I will die first…" Leliana seethed, suddenly arching her back and coiling her knees around his neck. "Or you will…" The snap of his bones echoed as she efficiently broke his spine and immediately recognized Sian. "You are alive." She gasped.

As Sian unchained the Spymaster, she fought back the horror of seeing Leliana's mangled face. As she worked, she saw the bloodied implements used on the woman laying nearby and the sight chilled her to the bone. "Maker's breath, Leliana! How are you still standing?"

Nightingale's eyes flashed and her smile was a rictus of agony as she answered. "Anger is stronger than any pain." Despite the ruin worked on her lovely face, she seemed to have somewhat more strength than Solas or Cassandra. She stretched her arms, cracked her neck and gravely inquired, "Do you have weapons?"

Sian turned, checking. Cassandra was picking up a sword and shield from a nearby arming rack as Solas perused a staff leaning near it. "We do."

Leliana grimaced as she strode to Cassandra's side, picking up her confiscated bow and a quiver brimming with arrows. "Good. The Magister is probably in his chambers."

Dorian stood behind her, his handsome face washed with concern. "You aren't curious as to how we got here?"

As she adjusted a buckle on the quiver, the spymaster cast a ghoulish gaze at the mage. "No." She told him with a note of chilling finality.

Undaunted, Dorian continued. "Alexius sent us into the future. This? His victory? His Elder One? It was never meant to be."

"I am so sorry, Leliana." Firmly, but gently Sian added. "If we can get back to the present and stop Alexius, then you'll never have to go through this."

Leliana's eyes were hard as sapphires in her hollowed skull as she cast them directly upon the Tevinter mage. "And mages always wonder why people fear them. No one should have this power."

Dorian seemed to ignore the potent anger in her voice. "It's dangerous and unpredictable. Before the Breach – nothing we did…"

"Enough." The spymaster made a cutting motion, her words tinged with warning. "This is all pretend to you – some future you hope will never exist. I suffered – the whole world suffered. It was real."

As he opened his mouth again, Sian marveled that the worldly mage seemed clueless. "What happened while we were away?" He ventured.

Leliana's face twisted with rage and she bored into him. "Stop talking!"

Sian reached for Dorian's arm, but he shook her off with a glare. "I'm just asking for information."

"No. You're talking to fill silence." Leliana's breath rattled with effort, her eyes were filled with sorrow and the bow in her hand trembled. "There were many terrible things… unspeakable things. It serves no purpose for you to hear them."

Sian considered this woman she knew to be kind, compassionate and strong as a willow and grieved, knowing that she was very close to breaking. For the Spymaster to reach this point, for her to be this enraged, this stony, whatever had happened was horrific enough to defy description. She needed her anger – she craved justice. If it could keep her on her feet and get them to the throne room, Sian had to let it stand. Acidic saliva swarmed her mouth and the Herald swallowed hard. "Let's end this. Come on."

The key ring Sian lifted from Leliana's torturer not only held shackle keys, but the key to the main gate. Grimly, she led them past the gate and into the keep proper. At several junctures they fought past Venatori troops and mages until they finally ascended a great staircase leading back to the great hall and the door to the throne room.

As they entered the hall, the Mark split open its sting encompassing Sian's hand in the telltale sign of a rift. The rip loomed in the alcove before the throne room door and it swarmed with demons and Venatori mages. She knew Solas, Dorian and Leliana could support her at range, they were already moving to position on the balcony surrounding the bay before the entrance. She looked at the Seeker close beside her. With every fight, Cassandra had gone shoulder to shoulder with her against the enemy, but Sian could see that her strength was diminishing. She had no idea what had been done to her, but the Herald realized it was slowly killing her.

"I will go to the Maker's side soon." Cassandra bluntly confessed, her face pale, lined with deep veins and glistening with sweat. Smiling gently, she gripped Sian's arm and wryly added, "However, I wish to send Alexius there first."

The Herald's eyes steamed but she hefted Sulevin filled with grit. "Then let's do this. Together."

Nodding, Cassandra matched her stride for stride as they doggedly began fighting through the pack of demons to the epicenter of the rift. Sian arced high and Cassandra bashed and struck low, relentlessly edging their way forward. As arrows, ice and fire stormed around them, the Seeker used her shield to cover them while they felled the mob barring their way.

Twice Sian attempted to close the ripped veil only to be met with resistance from the Venatori magi surrounding the room. On her third attempt, a lone Venatori stood before her, his staff crackling with a nimbus of hoary frost. Leveling it at Sian, he lifted it to deliver the spell but before he could fully cast, a single swift arrow sliced the air between the warriors to pierce the mage directly between the eyes.

Before the man hit the ground, Sian had dispatched the rift and Solas had begun working on the locked door. In order to open the complicated spell barring the way, the crew had to turn the pockets of the fallen mages robes to find the shards of red lyrium that acted as keys. Hastily they retrieved them and in silence, Sian handed them to Solas.

Working with economy, he placed them and dispelled the locked door. "The way is open."


	9. Chapter 8 - Warp and Weft

Chapter 8 – Warp and Weft

Sian's heart ached and her body was exhausted, but her mind was sharp as she clutched Sulevin and entered the Magister's chamber. Eyes blazing with fury, she strode to the foot of the dais. "Is this the greatness you crave, Alexius? The power you desired?" As she spoke, anger thrust her into a second wind. "Look at what you've done. All of this suffering and for what?"

Alexius stood on the dais, his arms limp at his sides, his head bowed as he contemplated his sickened son crouched primate-like in the corner. "For my country, for my son. But it means nothing now. I knew you would appear again – not that it would be now. But I knew I hadn't destroyed you. My final failure."

Dorian's rich voice was filled with lamentation as he addressed a man he once respected. "Was it worth it? Everything you did to the world? To yourself? Do you think Tevinter, or anyone else deserves this? I think not."

The Magister sighed, his shoulders sagging with resignation. "It doesn't matter now. All we can do is wait… for the end."

Sian glanced at her friends with respect. They had borne their suffering with dignity and perseverance. In contrast, the Magister's impotence amplified her wrath. "It does matter. I will see this undone!"

His back still facing them, Alexius somberly complained. "How many times have I tried? The past cannot be _undone_. All that I fought for, all that I betrayed. What have I wrought? Ruin and death – there is nothing else. The Elder One comes for me, for you, for us all."

Perhaps the Magister's eyes had been closed. As he finished speaking, Sian spied Leliana as she crept to the dais, wrapped an arm around Felix's neck, then swept him to a standing position in one fluid motion. The young man was barely recognizable. His eyes were dull, his skin gangrenous and pocked, his bones and musculature skewed. The Herald had seen this before, years ago, in the aftermath of the Blight. Felix was a victim of blight corruption and Sian knew it was, except in very rare cases - incurable.

"Felix!" Alexius gasped, turning to the Spymaster.

"That's Felix?!" Dorian's eyes strained as his brows pressed together. Incredulously, he demanded an explanation. "Maker's breath, Alexius! What have you done?"

The Magister raised his hand, pleading. "He would have died, Dorian. I saved him. Please don't hurt my son. I'll do anything you ask!"

Sian stepped forward to gently address the very determined, justifiably infuriated Spymaster. "Leliana, he is innocent. Don't do this for vengeance. It's not too late. Don't become the thing you hate."

Leliana cast her eyes on Felix for a long minute. Her scabbed, disfigured features relaxed and her eyes softened as she considered him. "No. You are right. Not for vengeance – but for mercy." Her words penetrated the air as her blade penetrated Felix's throat.

Alexius cried out as the young man slumped lifeless to the floor. "No. NO!" Leliana flew from the platform as the Magister swiftly attacked, but his spells seemed to be weakened and Sian and Dorian rapidly subdued him. Desperately, he levied his charged staff at Cassandra. Sian kicked the weapon away, clenched her teeth and beheaded him, cutting off the spell.

Dorian stooped beside his fallen former mentor. "He wanted to die didn't he? All those lies he told himself. The justifications. He lost Felix long ago and didn't even notice." Sighing with remorse, he closed the surprised eyes staring at him. "Oh Alexius."

"I'm sorry, Dorian. This must be hard for you." Sian gripped his shoulder. "This Alexius was too far gone. But the Alexius in our time might still be reasoned with."

"Well, I suppose that's true. This is the same amulet he used before… I think it's the same one we made in Minrathous." Rising, the mage cocked his head. "That's a relief. Give me an hour to work out the spell he used and I should be able to reopen the rift."

Leliana nearly exploded. "An hour! That's impossible! You must go now!" As if to prove her words, the unmistakable screeching and scratching of a horde of demons met their ears, the ground shook and chunks of stone and debris fell into the chamber. The Spymaster shivered. "The Elder One."

Dorian quickly moved to the dais where they had stood in the past and beckoned Sian. But the Herald felt torn. The Seeker and the elven mage shared a bereft glance. Solas nodded mournfully.

Vigilant unto death, Cassandra moved close to Sian's side. The Seeker's eyes were deeply bruised and her voice was determined, but raspy. "You cannot save us and you cannot stop this from here. You know this. We must delay them."

The Herald's eyes blurred. She hated what had been done here – she couldn't simply abandon them. "I won't let you commit suicide."

Leliana stepped beside them, her own eyes streaming. "Look at us – we're already dead. The only way we live is if this day never comes."

Gently smiling, Cassandra tenderly smoothed the hair over Sian's ear. "Go, Herald of Andraste. Find me in the present." Striding to the chamber exit, she nodded to Leliana. "We'll hold the outer door. When they get past us – it will be your turn." As the door closed behind her, Sian heard the echo of her final prayer. "May this day never come. Maker guide us all."

With Sulevin at the ready, Sian began to approach the dais, clenching her teeth, her guts twisting - fighting the urge to run after her companions.

"Cast your spell, you have as much time as I have arrows." Leliana stood several feet away, her bowstring nocked and the chant of light on her lips. "Though darkness closes, I am shielded by flame…"

Dorian lifted the amulet and began the incantation. Grunting with effort, beads of perspiration on his brow, he called to Sian, his voice straining. "The way is manifest – but, I can't quite manage to get it open! It needs more power. You must help me do this – or we'll fail!"

Sian rushed to him, her eyes wide as demons splintered the door and savagely hurled Cassandra's empty, broken body inside. Leliana held them off alone – her fingers rapidly loading and releasing arrows. When the last shaft was spent, she used her bladed bow to fend off attackers in hand-to-hand combat, moving lethally through the unnatural flock. "Andraste guide me! Maker take me to your side…" As she offered the fervid benediction, a Venatori clutched her neck and a terror demon ended her life.

Enemies surrounding them, unable to stop the mournful howl ripped from her throat, Sian lifted her palm to the familiar emerald glow, grief and madness channeling her will, and opened the vortex. Once again time shifted and she flew into the tear, tumbling in light. She landed hard and rolled, alighting on her feet in front of Alexius. "Surrender! Now!" She roared fiercely, her cheeks glistening as she placed her blade to his neck.

Her indomitable will overwhelmed Alexius and he yielded without struggle, dropping to his knees in submission. "You won. There is no point extending this charade." The Magister looked to his son his eyes filled with regret. "Felix?"

The young man smiled, crouching next to him. "It's going to be all right, Father."

The Magister's voice broke. "You'll die."

Felix waved to Dorian as his father was taken away by Inquisition Scouts and he stepped beside him. His humble words trailed in his wake. "Everyone dies."

For a long moment, silence reigned. Trembling, heart still racing, Sian searched the room with her eyes and found the Seeker. She had to remind herself that this Cassandra knew nothing of the wretched future she had given her life to defer. The Herald felt her eyes fill with hope and affection as she gazed at the Seeker. Cassandra looked back at her quizzically, but nodded her approval.

"Oh goody. We get to keep the mud." Dorian cleared his throat and frowned, brushing flakes of mold, blood and dried dirt from his garments. He gave up with a deep sigh. "Well, I'm glad that's over with." The words tripped from his lips as the sound of marching boots filled the great hall. "Or not…"

Troops in the livery of Ferelden formed up on the perimeter. As the last of the large detail stomped into place, they opened to reveal King Alistair and Queen Anora.

The King's eyebrow was arched, his demeanor laced with consternation as he spoke to Fiona. "Grand Enchanter. Imagine how surprised I was to learn you'd given Redcliffe Castle away to a Tevinter Magister?"

"King Alistair!" Fiona's eyes were wide with shock, but she offered the rulers an elegant bow.

"Especially since last I checked Redcliffe belongs to Arl Teagan." Alistair crossed his arms, his voice firm.

Though Sian wasn't sure why, Fiona seemed flustered in the King's presence. "Your Majesty, we never intended…"

"I know what you intended." Alistair sounded as disappointed as he did disapproving. "I wanted to help you. But you've made it impossible. You've given me no choice. You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden."

Fiona's face fell. "But we have hundreds who need protection - where will we go?"

"Pardon me, Your Majesties." Temper cooled, Sian nodded elegantly to the royal duo. "But I should point out that we did come here for mages to close the Breach."

The Grand Enchanter was fidgety and rightly nervous. "And what are the terms of this arrangement?"

"Hopefully, better than what Alexius gave you." Dorian looked to Sian expectantly. "The Inquisition is better than that – yes?"

"I suggest conscripting them." Cassandra crossed her arms, scowling pointedly at Fiona. "They've proven what they'll do given too much freedom."

Solas rarely involved himself in decision-making, but even he had an opinion. "They have lost any other support they might have had through their actions. The Inquisition is their only remaining chance for freedom."

The situation was crystal clear to the Grand Enchanter. She cast her eyes to the floor. "It seems we have little choice but to accept whatever you are willing to offer."

Sian realized they were all looking to her to decide. For a moment she turned away, her mind reviewing the events of the day. Some were factual – some were projections from a future they had narrowly escaped. But they all provided insight into the motives of all of the players, including the mages. Whatever she chose she'd have to justify to the Inquisition.

Running her hand through her cropped, dark hair, she pivoted, narrowed her eyes and gravely made an offer to Fiona. "If you will help us close the Breach, we would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisition's side."

Behind her, she heard Cassandra sigh deeply. "We will discuss that later."

Sian's voice was unwavering as she addressed the Grand Enchanter while issuing a potent reminder to them all. "The Breach and this Elder One threaten all of Thedas and everyone in it. We cannot afford to be lacking in unity – it only makes us weak. Any chance of success requires your full cooperation and support."

"A generous opportunity." King Alistair nodded in agreement and told Fiona gravely. "The Herald is willing to give you a second chance. I'd take that offer if I were you. One way or the other – you're leaving my kingdom."

"We accept. It would be madness not to." Fiona seemed relieved and thankful. "I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed – you will not regret giving us this chance."

 _Maker, I hope not._ Sian whispered under her breath as she caught the Seeker's baleful stare.

XXXXX

Night had fallen on the Hinterlands as Sian led the Inquisition's troops back to camp. She was filthy and drained, but thoughts of the situation she and Dorian had faced in the time rift occupied her mind. The light of the waxing moon illuminated the Seeker's raven hair and her familiar face as she marched in silence at the Herald's side. Sian worried that she was angry, but in truth she appeared to be pensive, in deep communion with her own thoughts. _What are you thinking, Seeker?_

The troops dispersed as they made it to the encampment while Cassandra and Leliana followed Sian to the command tent.

Pacing the length of the map table and back like a caged lion, Cullen awaited them. He exhaled sharply as he studied Sian's blood spackled attire. "Sweet Andraste! Where have you been? What happened?"

Cassandra and Leliana took turns filling him in, telling him of the Magister's duplicity, his plans to indenture the mages and his work for the mysterious enemy - the Elder One. They told him of the final meeting with Fiona and the rulers of Ferelden, but when they came to the juncture of the Herald's decision, they looked at her pointedly.

Sian stepped to the fore. "In exchange for providing us help in closing the Breach, I offered them an alliance with the Inquisition."

"You what?!" the Commander bristled. "What were you thinking? We can't turn mages loose with no oversight!"

"We can." Sian assured him, squaring off with him. "I have my reasons. I saw things, terrible things for our future if the Breach is not healed and this Elder One exposed and defeated." Casting her arm past each of them, she shuddered as she thought of the pillars of red lyrium, the sickness, the death. "We all paid a very high price for failure in that future – including the mages."

"But the veil is torn open! The mages face a high threat of possession." the former Templar sputtered. "Seeker, you were there. Why didn't you intervene?"

Cassandra shrugged and crossed her arms, nonplussed by Cullen's ire. "I confess that I do not understand but she did well. I support the Herald. Her mission was to gain the support of the mages and that was accomplished. In the end, closing the Breach is what matters."

"I too support the Herald." Leliana told him. "And – we are attracting former Templars to our cause. If the mages cannot manage their own – we will deal with them appropriately."

Sian rubbed her forehead, attempting to smooth away the headache building within from just thinking about the dark future. "Sister Leliana, you need to be aware that in the future, Empress Celene was assassinated and the Elder One raised an unstoppable army of demons that devastated Thedas."

"I will definitely be looking into those things, you may rest assured." The Spymaster agreed without hesitation. "I will get my agents in Orlais on it immediately."

Apparently mollified, the quick tempered Commander focused on strategy. "One battle at a time. It's going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits. We'll take this to Haven and hold a war council there. Maker willing the mages will be enough to grant us victory." Poised to exit, he gripped Sian's arm. "Apologies, Ser Trevelyan. You did well. None of this means anything without your Mark."

The Herald returned the grip and locked onto his eyes. "Commander, I am honored to be part of the Inquisition. Believe me when I tell you that I would do anything to prevent the future I witnessed from happening. Anything."

XXXXX

As Sian left the command tent Dorian fell in step with her. "Nasty business - the future." The mage pointed out impishly. "Though I'd prefer to skip any war councils, I would like to stay and see this Breach up close if you don't mind."

Amused and pleasantly surprised, Sian chuckled. "Do you mean to tell me that you haven't had enough of fighting demons and your own countrymen? Besides which - I saw the way you looked at the rustic décor. Are you certain you want to rough it?"

The mage's tone took a serious turn. "We both saw what could happen. What this Elder One and his cult are trying to do. Not everything from Tevinter is terrible, not all of us are like them. Some of us have fought for eons against this sort of madness. It's my duty to stand with you. That future must not come to pass." His jovial demeanor returned and he flashed her a grin. "And – you would be shocked to see the wonders I can perform with primitive accommodations. Besides – the south is so charming this time of year. I just adore it to little tiny pieces."

The man's company seemed to lift her spirits. "There's no one I'd rather be stranded in time with – future or present."

"Excellent choice – but let's not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?" His eyes twinkled in the diffused light of the nearby campfire. Then, bidding her goodnight, he sauntered off.

Sian thought seriously about just going to bed as she was but the residue of slogging through Redcliffe's dungeon and the blood of the Venatori clung to her body like pollution. She knew of a nearby stream she could bathe in and craved the cleansing water. Collecting a change of clothes and a towel, she quietly slipped to her destination.

The discussion in the command tent had taken her back to the future past. As she swam, she let the anxiety of it bubble into the water surrounding her, carrying with it the detritus of the dungeon. Most of it washed away, but as she stilled her movements, letting the currents pass over her aching body, she felt the ghost of Cassandra's touch to her cheek and the deep longing she'd harbored as she held the dying Seeker in the dark cell.

Sian closed her eyes, took a lungful of air and plunged into a deep pool. The rush of water resounding in her ears returned her to those moments of watching as her companions sacrificed themselves for the future good. As she surfaced explosively and gasped for breath, her mind's eye flashed to Cassandra's bleeding, wrecked body landing ignominiously on the castle floor, her life force spent. For all of her faith, her skills and her dogged determination – the Seeker was mortal. Even a protector needed protection.

Standing up in the waist deep stream, cold air colliding with her wet skin like an ethereal hammer, Sian trembled. Her flesh recoiled with the sudden chill and the dark memory. The world had been ending in those moments for everyone in Thedas, but Sian realized that for her, the world had already become a void the instant Cassandra died.

" _Find me in the present."_ Future Cassandra had told her. Closing her eyes, she recalled the soft hand running past her ear and a smile that carried a nascent promise. Evidently, the future Seeker had thought about her, missed her – and seemed to have deeper feelings for her.

By the time she toweled off and dressed, Sian had to admit to herself that she was falling hopelessly in love with Cassandra. She shivered, not from the night air, but from the prospect of ever professing it.

XXXXX

Cassandra noticed Sian's absence and sat by the campfire, occasionally prodding the banked embers to life. Just as she was about to go in search of the wayward Herald, she heard her footsteps on the path behind her.

"Seeker, are you still up?" Sian asked as she pulled her gambeson tightly around her.

The Herald's profile seemed to glow. Cassandra studied her. She was impressed with the noble's bearing. She'd mastered the Magister and withstood an ordeal the Seeker could only imagine was a nightmare of epic proportions. But, in this light Cassandra considered her face. Trevelyan was not a classic beauty. Her features were a bit sharp, her body, though slim, was too muscular – too androgynous. Her deep blue eyes were the eyes of a raptor, defined by dark, arched eyebrows. _Not beautiful – but handsome_.

"Seeker?" The Herald's worried tone snapped her from her thoughts.

"Yes. Of course." Irritated with herself for her errant contemplation, Cassandra sounded brusque, even to herself. "It – It concerns me when you go off alone."

"I apologize for worrying you." Brows gathered, the Herald seated herself on a nearby log and explained. "I was covered with nasty souvenirs from Redcliffe's dungeon. I knew I'd feel better if I washed up before going to bed."

"I am being foolish. It only makes sense that you would wish to do so." The Seeker was contrite. "Forgive me."

"You seemed upset with me at Redcliffe, but you defended me to Cullen. Do you truly support my decision?" Sian held her hands to the fire, warming them.

"I do. Though I do not pretend to understand it." Cassandra was perplexed. Between the firestorm at Kirkwall, the vote to rebel and their desperate pact with Alexius, the mages had proven themselves to be utterly unreliable. "What made you think to offer them an alliance?"

Sian faced her, chuckling, seeming to read her mind. "You mean why would I think it's a good idea to give freedom to a group of people who have repeatedly demonstrated an alarming capacity for poor decision-making?"

There it was. That particular crooked smile. One that seemed to be a gift given only to her. Cassandra cleared her throat and stoked the ebbing fire to warm the chilled Herald. "That would be an excellent place to start. Yes."

One dark eyebrow crept up as Sian began. "My original inclination was to take your advice – conscript them. Maker – I was so angry." The Herald's brow furrowed and her lips compressed. "But, as I told the council, they paid dearly for it." Her hand swept back through her drying hair and she sighed deeply. "Truth is – in the end I tried to think of the root cause of their foolishness. Their lack of freedom started this – long before you or I ever were a twinkle in our father's eyes. For better or worse, they gained their freedom and to take it away would only return them to the desperation that has fueled so many of their mistakes. If we confined them – they'd just attempt to run again." Sian spread her fingers over her kneecaps, leaning into her elbows. "In the end, I suppose it seemed fair to me to give them another chance. I'd rather have them organized, under the eyes of the Inquisition, than run the risk of having them running scared – loosed on Thedas."

"I meant it when I said you did well." Cassandra studied the Herald's battle-scarred hands, observing tiny scars, nicks and callouses from years of blade work. Those hands were capable of wholesale mayhem, but she knew they possessed a gentle magic too. The few times the Herald touched the Seeker had been memorable, leaving traces of tenderness and reverence that remained. Cassandra directed her gaze at Sian. "In truth, you did better than well. But – can we trust them?"

The Herald snorted derisively, "Oh – we can trust them. We can trust them to look out for their own best interests at this point anyway. But, for the time being – that works to our advantage. With the Inquisition's support, some subtle guidance, a lot more information and a generous amount of time, they might even do some growing up."

"I suppose they might. The Seekers knew they'd been mishandled. Mistakes were made – there were deaths. They might have been prevented if we'd just been more compassionate instead of turning a blind eye." Cassandra sighed. "I suppose it isn't only the mages who need to grow up."

"Somehow I think Divine Justinia knew that. At least, I hope she did." Sian leisurely stretched, dropped her hips to the ground and leaned her back into the log she'd occupied. The move brought her into close proximity with the Seeker.

"I suspect that is true. She had an uncanny way of knowing us better than we knew ourselves I think." Cassandra noticed that their hips and thighs nearly touched. It surprised her to realize that she actually felt comfortable with the closeness. Was it right that the protector felt so safe with the one she vowed to protect? Cassandra wasn't sure, but she gave into the moment. Sian looked so haggard, so worn. "I would understand if you do not wish to discuss it, but if you need to speak of what happened to you I am glad to listen."

Sian's eyes were hooded and her mouth was firm as she replied. "There were many terrible things… unspeakable things. You don't deserve to be troubled with them."

"You saw nothing worthwhile? Nothing that sustained you?" Cassandra didn't want to pry, but it saddened her to think that the world Sian saw was so void of hope.

"One. There was one thing." Ocean blue eyes beneath glistening lashes seemed to contemplate the Seeker, searching her face. "But, for now – I will keep it here." The Herald pressed her palm to her heart.

"Perhaps someday you will be able to tell me." Cassandra was drawn to the intensity of the memory and felt her eyes wash with compassion.

"Perhaps." Sian's eyes were grave, but gentle. "I would ask a boon of you though."

"If it is within my grasp, I will grant it." The Seeker offered her assurance.

"This is an elven protection rune." The Herald reached into the liner of her quilted, dark blue jacket and produced a necklet. "I want you to accept it as a gift – and I want you to promise me that you will wear it."

Cassandra had first noticed the amulet when Sian languished in the Chantry jail. She'd always thought it was attractive. The rune itself was silverite embossed with opalescent-washed, golden elven characters, embedded with tiny fragments of sapphire and amethyst. The precious ingot hung between golden ferrules from a burnished mahogany leather cord. It was part of the Herald, she couldn't imagine her not wearing it. "Why? Why would you give this to me?"

"You need it more than I do. Sulevin has a twin to it in the pommel." Sian lifted the sword from where it sat beside her and lined them up. The twin runes sparkled in the firelight. Her voice was insistent as she urged her. "It would ease my mind more than if I spoke of Redcliffe."

"If – If you're certain." Cassandra felt a lump in her throat and warmth in her heart.

Sian answered wordlessly by rolling to her knees in front of Cassandra. She lifted the ends of the necklet and fastened them behind her neck. Her touch was tender as her fingers delicately tracked the lengths back to the amulet, tracing over the Seeker's skin. For a moment, she closed her eyes and prayerfully held the amulet.

The Seeker shivered, her body drawn to the Herald's hands and the trailing warmth on her neck and throat. She flushed as she searched Sian's eyes and realized that not only was there was longing and hunger in them, but that deep within, she wanted to answer it.

Resistant, instead she gripped Sian's bicep and murmured her gratitude. "This is very generous of you. The Empress of Orlais has no finer piece than this. I promise – I will wear it always."

The enchantment dispelled as Sian sat back on her knees and she smiled that crooked smile. "Well, you are 78th in line for the Nevarran throne - it's fitting, don't you agree?"

For once, Cassandra stifled her usual response to references to her royal lineage, instead she satisfied herself with a playful swipe at Sian's shoulder. "If your intent is to keep me alive, then yes. Given the odds we face, I am grateful for it." Noting the fatigue that had taken hold of the Herald, she got to her feet and extended a helping hand. "You look exhausted. Come. It is time we call it a day."

Returning the grip, Sian rose beside her. "Then I wish you good night, Seeker."

As the Herald walked away from the campfire, Cassandra immediately felt bereft of the intimacy. She'd spent so much of her life trying to make a difference, trying to matter, being a protector, that she'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone who wanted to keep her safe. While he lived Galyan had, but for some reason - it never felt like this.


	10. Chapter 9 - Loose Ends

Chapter 9 – Loose Ends

Sian exited her tent the next morning well-rested, her dreams solely occupied by the allure of a certain raven-haired Seeker. Yawning, she decided quickly to search for breakfast then visit the command tent to re-visit plans for the day.

"Deal. With. It." She heard Cassandra's voice firmly echo in the distance.

Pivoting too late to assist the beleaguered Seeker, she watched as the warrior snorted derisively, turned heel and decisively marched in the opposite direction, leaving a frustrated enchanter quivering in her wake. A lilting voice from close beside the Herald drifted to her ear, sighing.

"Tactful as always, Cassandra." Leliana's voice was crisp, but her eyes danced. "She has the temper of a dragon, the courage of a griffin and the heart of a lamb."

"She does." Her eyes following Cassandra, Sian smiled in amusement at the irritated Seeker's departure, then turned to Leliana. "The same could be said of you, Sister. I saw you in the future. You were quite something else. You sacrificed yourself for me… for Thedas. You both did."

"Of course we did. Either of us would give our lives to heal the Breach and stop this Elder One." The spymaster clasped her hands behind her and looked on fondly. "You were ready to breathe fire yourself when you reappeared from the rift. I have no idea what you saw - what you experienced, but I know the same can be said of you. You did what needed to be done. How could we ask any less of ourselves?"

"It's just – well, you were amazing. What you did turned the tide." Sian assured her, her eyes serious. "You need to know that for all you've been through, for all you've lost, you make a difference. The first time I talked with you in your work tent back at Haven, you were angry. You told me that serving the Maker meant nothing."

Leliana flushed and looked at her boot, then shyly toed the gravel beneath it. "That is true. I was wrong to take my anger out on you."

"That's not my point." Noting her discomfort, Sian explained, spreading her hands open. "I understood why you felt that way. I guess, I just hope, that you've begun to see that you have a purpose. We couldn't have gotten the mages without your ingenious plan and timely intervention."

"It feels nice to be appreciated." The former bard brightened, her voice chime-like. "I hope the mages are able to help with the Breach before the Right Hand truly loses her temper with them. I suppose we'll find out soon, yes?

"That would be my plan." Sian laughed. "But according to Cullen and Fiona they'll need some time to settle in and rest before we attempt it."

"A wise precaution I suppose." Leliana shifted, her expression thoughtful. "Perhaps in the mean time you would be interested in looking into another matter for me? I've spoken with the others, but they don't share my concerns about it."

"Of course. Anything I can do to help."

"I have given much thought as to why we haven't heard from the Grey Wardens. It seems strange. After checking into it they all seem to have mysteriously vanished. I wonder where they've gone off to and I'm certain Aryn would want to know. My agents have reported that there is one here in the Hinterlands, near Lake Luthias, a man named Blackwall. "

"You don't wish to question him yourself?" Tucking her thumbs in her belt buckle, Sian cocked an eyebrow.

"I think he might be more forthcoming if he is approached by another warrior. And - I must return to Haven with Cullen and the mages to look into the problems of Orlais." Leliana rubbed her chin in thought, concerned. "This news of an attempt on Empress Celene's life and this demon army you saw cannot be ignored."

"Then of course I'll go. Now that you mention it, it does seem strange. There were Wardens at the conclave, but given the serious implications of the Breach, they have been awfully quiet." Sian looked at the Spymaster with a playful grin. "I'm sorry you won't be coming along with us. I'd love to see your bow in action again."

"My bow?" Leliana's lashes fluttered with a faux coquettish blink and her fiery hair gleamed in the morning sun. "I have other charms as well, Ser Trevelyan."

"Of that – I am certain, my Lady." Sian bowed with a silly flourish, grinning. "However, they are spoken for, are they not?"

Her blue eyes merry, Nightingale sighed. "They are indeed and I am not blind to the fact that your interest lies elsewhere, yes?"

Brows furrowed, Sian's tone was affectionately accusing. "You don't miss a trick, do you?"

"Not many, no." The former bard smiled deviously. "At least - as few as possible."

"Then I suppose we'll just have to suffer the loss as friends." The Herald smiled with authentic warmth in her eyes and her voice.

"Under that condition, I will gladly suffer." The spymaster replied confidentially, gently patting Sian's arm. "I will see you in Haven soon?"

"Soon. Safe travels, Leliana."

XXXXX

After tucking in a large slice of toasted camp bread filled with sausages, some dried fruit, and a cup of aromatic Rivaini coffee, Sian collected Solas and Varric and went in search of the Seeker, feeling marginally more human than she had in days. They found Cassandra with Master Dennet at the edge of camp.

"If it isn't the Herald of Andraste!" the Horsemaster greeted Sian heartily. "Good morning to you."

"And to you, Master Dennet." Sian nodded agreeably. "Are you off to Haven?"

"Thanks to your help and, of course, that of your resourceful companions," the grizzled master gestured to them, "I can join you in jolly good conscience."

"That's wonderful news! The Inquisition will benefit greatly from your skills."

"I'm proud to contribute. Speaking of which…" Dennet motioned Sian and company to follow him, "…let me introduce you to some new friends."

A short walk away, a string of horses and a stout pony stood waiting beside a makeshift wicker paddock. The Horsemaster proudly introduced his stock. The first animal was a sleek black mare with a white star in the middle of her forehead and four white socks. "This is Starfire, Seeker. Most of the time, she's easy-going, but she's a smart, no-nonsense kinda gal. I think the two of you will get along real well." Dennet affectionately patted the mare's neck. The next horse was a kind-eyed, buckskin gelding. "Messer Solas, this guy is Tag. He's agile and quick, but gentle as a whisper. I hope you like him." A blue roan pony stamped impatiently at the end of the string, nosing the Horsemaster's pockets as he approached. "Master Tethras, this fella is for you. Sturdy and steady as they come. Likes his feedbag, but he's dependable. He suits you, I can tell. Name is Wind."

Unable to resist, Varric inquired with a snort at the somewhat portly animal. "What kind of name is Wind for this beast?" As the words passed his lips, the pony looked at him shrewdly, lifted his tail and with a drawn out sputter - passed a prodigious cloud of gas. Sighing, the dwarf slapped himself on the forehead. "I had to ask, didn't I?"

Sian and Cassandra shared a long glance, their eyes filled with mirth. Solas actually smiled as Dennet gravely explained, shrugging. "Too many apples. I'd make sure that don't happen if I were you."

"Point taken." Varric grimaced as he took the reins, coughing.

"I haven't forgotten you, Ser Trevelyan. While the others get used to these beauties, I'll take you to meet your mount." Dennet grinned as he led Sian to the paddock.

Sian's eyes were warm as she got her first view of the Horsemaster's choice for her. A shimmering bay and white tobiano stallion with feathered fetlocks was hitched to a post inside the pen. At about sixteen and a half hands, he was a nice size for her. He whickered nervously, dancing and sidling back and forth.

"This young enthusiast doesn't answer to anything near as I can tell. Got him a few weeks ago, straight out of the Anderfels. He's trained to the nines, but he does have some fire. Saw you ride at the farm though, and I know the Trevelyan name. Give'em a go. See if you like how he handles." The Horsemaster wore a wry grin as he tightened the saddle cinch on the prancing steed and handed Sian the reins.

"Thank you, Master Dennet. I think the two of us need to get acquainted. Would you be so kind as to open the gate and let us out?" The courser frisked as she mounted, but Sian easily managed to shuffle step and lift into the saddle seat.

Speaking in low tones, the Herald encouraged her mount as he frolicked past her companions toward the field across the road. The stallion bobbed his head trying to grasp the bit, and gathered his feet. Sian could feel his powerful barrel muscles ripple and his hindquarters contract and knew she was in for quite a ride. In a flash he bolted across the field at a full out run. Making a bid to toss her, every few strides he'd kick up his back feet striking at the air.

"My money's on the horse." Varric snorted as he watched.

Joining him, Cassandra wore a worried expression and glared at the Horsemaster. "That demon will kill her! What were you thinking Master Dennet?"

The old man whispered knowingly to the Seeker. "Watch."

All eyes were on Sian as the stallion blazed a zig-zag course through the field. As a Trevelyan, she'd cut her teeth on animals like this one. Confidently she let him have his head, allowing him to work off energy and give her his best shot. Eventually, he seemed to wind down, but her experienced seat told her it was all an act. As she began to guide him back to the paddock, she felt his legs stove up and his back stiffen like a coil. In the blink of an eye, he was having a full-on fit – athletically flexing, rearing and diving, ears laced back, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling. As he leaped up, he violently bucked and swapped ends several times in a deadly bid to throw his rider.

Eyes wide, the Seeker was beside herself, dry washing her hands, but she kept faith with the Herald and practiced some restraint, taking her cue from Dennet's example of calm.

Sian stayed with the young horse, laughing with delight at his foolishness, biding her time and sticking to the saddle like a cockle-burr. As she felt him begin to tire, she shortened a rein and firmly drew it down to her lower leg, pulling his muzzle in tight and rounding his body laterally. At first, he resisted, furiously tossing his head and still trying to lash out. But the Herald held on tightly and he had no choice but to turn in endless close circles. If he tried to buck from that position – he'd drop onto his side like a stone. Apparently he realized he'd fall if he kept at it but that didn't keep him from trying to call her bluff. Several times, he seemed to calm and she'd give him some rein, then he'd begin his theatrical routine and she'd patiently, but swiftly, pull him in tight. Finally, his glossy coat lathered with sweat from the object lesson, he relented. Praising him lavishly and stroking his damp neck, Sian walked him back to her gathered companions.

Cassandra sighed, her eyes filled with admiration – and relief.

"You've done your House proud!" Dennet crowed giving voice to the Seeker's thoughts and lightly applauding. "Well done, Ser Trevelyan."

Sian dismounted and stretched, her smile a mile wide. "He's a fine choice, Horsemaster." Walking the now subdued stallion to cool him down, she caressed his downy muzzle and addressed him. "I'm naming you Tucker, big guy." She told him affectionately.

"Why Tucker?" Solas mildly inquired.

Tongue in cheek, exhilarated by the challenge, Sian flushed as she answered. "Because it's polite."

XXXXX

Now mounted, the companions made excellent time. By mid-morning they were nearly to Lake Luthias when they stopped for short break downriver from their destination.

Sian loosened Tucker's girth and watched him drink, his bright eyes filled with bliss. As she waited, she stretched and began to hear a faint buzz in her head. Quickly she looked to her palm with the Mark, but it wasn't glowing. "Do you hear bees?" She asked Cassandra.

The Seeker shrugged. "I hear nothing but the water and some birds."

"Did you say you hear something?" Solas asked from her other side, his attention suddenly tuned to the Herald.

"Yes." Sian tilted her head and tried clearing her ear with an index finger as the volume and pitch began to increase. "Buzzing. And it's getting louder."

The elven mage looked thoughtful for a moment then turned to Varric. "Master Tethras, would you be inclined to keep an eye on our friends here? I need to assist the Herald."

"You need only ask." Varric readily agreed.

"Seeker, Ser Trevelyan, if you'll follow me, I believe we can find an answer together." Solas led the Seeker and the Herald a short distance away, then pivoted to Sian. "Can you still hear the sound?"

Sian winced, the noise had increased in volume and the buzzing was now accompanied by a whirring whine. "If this keeps up I'll soon have the mother of all headaches."

Cassandra directed her gaze at Sian, her brow gathered in concern. "What is happening, Solas?"

"I'll show you." The mage stepped into a thicket and climbed a short ridge. "Come closer, Herald."

Sian climbed behind him and a chime added itself to the cacophony in her mind. As she looked on she saw that Solas was standing next to a strange contraption. "What is that thing?" She asked, rubbing her temples.

"Another ancient elvhan artifact. It seems that you can sense it." Solas looked at the object with reverence. "Unless I am mistaken. It is one of many – if they still exist. All designed to measure the strength of the veil. These may be of great assistance to the Inquisition if they are still capable of functioning." He directed Sian. "Place your hand over it."

Willing to do almost anything to rid herself of the annoyance making her brain hurt, the Herald hovered her palm over the top of the machine. She nearly jumped out of her skin as it rapidly rattled to life. The spherical center began to spin and a ring on its perimeter started rotating around the circumference of the appliance. Immediately the weird symphony in her ears stopped.

Cassandra gripped her arm, frowning. "Are you alright?"

"I am, Seeker." Running her hand through her hair, Sian cast a puzzled look at Solas. "How? How did I do that?"

"Magic." He answered matter-of-factly. "It may be from the Mark or something else."

"Something else? Like what?" This bit of news was just another thing to add to the Herald's worries. Scoffing, Sian kicked a clump of dirt in frustration. "I don't have any magic. I'm not a mage."

Solas simply shrugged. "Magic is not simply the purview of mages. There are others who possess various types of magic. I would suggest that you have a talent for detection. For example, Templars and Seekers of Truth have that gift."

Cassandra seemed to be considering Sian closely. 'That is true, Solas. But Templars acquire it only through the use of lyrium and Seekers through the trials of the Vigil, neither of which apply to the Herald." Suddenly, the Seeker's eyes widened as she appeared to have an epiphany. "But. I did notice something. First in Val Royeaux, then at Redcliffe."

Worry and disbelief at war within, Sian looked at the Seeker. "What did you notice?"

"That you were able to distinguish when someone nearby was holding power." Cassandra explained. "You knew when Fiona did so at the city gate and again when I had drawn it in the presence of the Magister at the tavern."

"I did, didn't I?" The Herald closed her eyes and dropped her head, exasperated at the idea. "So what does this mean? Now do I need to worry about being possessed?"

The mage cocked his head. "I think it unlikely that could happen. If it were possible, don't you think one of the many demons you've killed while closing rifts would have attempted it?"

"I suppose so." Crossing her arms, Sian struggled with the concept. "But where did it come from? How am I able to do this?"

Cassandra's voice was gentle and reassuring. "Truly. I do not believe it something to be concerned about. If you had the powers and vulnerabilities of a mage, I would know. You do not. It is likely connected to your Mark."

The Herald blew out a breath and locked eyes with the Seeker. "That must be it, then."

Sian would have preferred that were the end of it, that it was as simple as being connected to the mysteries of the Mark as Cassandra believed. However, the look of speculation present on Solas's face made her wonder. It made sense but somewhere in the back of her mind she felt there was more to it. Perhaps much more.

XXXXX

Thoughts of unexpected talent, the uncovering of Sulevin as more than a mere sword, and Solas's querying glances distracted Sian as they searched the shore of Lake Luthias for Blackwall. Cassandra rode at her side studying her under half-lidded eyes, and Solas sat his saddle with a vacant expression, lost to his own thoughts, leaving their dwarven companion to attend to the business at hand.

Affably, Varric remained vigilant and it was his voice that broke the individual reveries of the others as they crossed an old bridge to the far side. "There! That joker looks like a warden. At least he's wearing the griffin."

Sian blinked as the fog lifted. "Where, Varric?"

Giving a quick tug to his reins to remind Wind not to eat the grass for the umpteenth time Varric stopped on a grassy knoll and pointed toward a battered cabin. "Over there, by the docks. Can't miss him. He's the hairy one."

As they drew near they could hear the whiskered man drilling a group of fresh-faced younger men. "Remember how to carry your shield. You're not hiding – you're holding, otherwise it's useless!"

The company dismounted, secured the horses and Sian led them toward their goal. As she approached the soldier she called out. "Blackwall! Warden Blackwall?"

The man pivoted sharply, drawing his sword with economy and precision. "You're not - how do you know my name? Who sent you?" he demanded.

As Sian started an answer Blackwell swiftly shielded her as an arrow suddenly descended from their flank.

"Bandits!" Cassandra shouted, running to the Herald's side.

"That tears it. Help or get out. We deal with these idiots first." Blackwall whirled toward the attackers with clenched teeth.

Sian admired the man's guts. Not even sure what Sian was there for or who she was and he was entirely focused on the moment at hand. Chagrined at her own previous bout with mindlessness but now wide awake in the face of danger, Sian stood ready. "We'll help."

"Conscripts! Here they come!" The warden slashed his sword toward the oncoming band of thugs consisting of a motley band of archers and swordsmen.

The fight was short. Between Sian and her crew, and Blackwall and his handful of conscripts, the bandits were over-matched and all but one straggler lay dead.

Varric got the last laugh as he lined up a shot on the lone runner. Bianca lurched as he pulled the trigger and he chuckled as the bolt took the recreant in the ass cheek. Sighing with satisfaction, he watched the bandit limp for the hills and beamed. "Always good to let one go home with a souvenir. Makes them think twice about coming back."

In the aftermath Blackwall looked over the bodies of the dead criminals then turned to his young soldiers. "Good work. Take back what they stole. Go back to your families. You saved yourselves."

As the conscripts dispersed, Sian approached the grizzled veteran and he wasted no time rounding on her. "You're no farmer. How do you know my name? Who are you?"

The man seemed startled so the Herald pitched her voice low and even. "I know your name because I'm an agent of the Inquisition. I'm investigating whether the disappearance of the Grey Wardens has anything to do with the Divine's murder."

"Maker's balls! The Wardens and the Divine? That can't – no, you're asking. So you don't really know." Blackwell crossed his arms and defensively explained. "First off – I didn't know they disappeared. But we do that, right? No more blight, job done, wardens are the first thing forgotten. But one thing I'll tell you: no warden killed the Divine. Our purpose isn't political."

"My intent is not to accuse." Sian noted his jumpy demeanor and sought to put him at ease. "I just need information. I've only just found you. Where are the rest?"

"I haven't seen any wardens for months. I travel alone, recruiting. Not much interest because the Archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there's no blight coming." The Warden seemed to relax and he became more forthcoming. "Treaties give wardens the right to take what we need. Who we need. The treaties are ancient. If there's a blight, everyone has to help the effort to fight it. Outside a Blight, they're only as binding as a clever tongue can make it."

The potentials of the treaties were intriguing, but Sian was more concerned with locating the Grey Wardens. "Do you have any idea where the other wardens could have gone?"

Blackwall smoothed his beard. "Maybe they returned to the stronghold at Weisshaupt? That's in the Anderfels, a long way north. I don't really know. Can't imagine why they'd all disappear at once. Let alone where they'd disappear to."

This was not the news Sian hoped for, but it seemed he'd told her all her knew. Nodding gravely, she motioned to Cassandra and the others and prepared to leave. "It's been a pleasure, Warden Blackwall. Thank you for your time."

"Inquisition… agent, did you say? Hold a moment." Blackwell followed her. "The Divine is dead and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we're absent is almost as bad as thinking we're involved. If you're trying to put things right. Maybe you need a warden. Maybe you need me."

At Denerim, Sian had witnessed the work of only three wardens. That day they managed to slay an Archdemon. But, she didn't know Blackwall so she tested him. Snorting, she laced her arms and stared him down. "The Inquisition needs all the support it can get. But what can one Grey Warden do?"

"Save the fucking world, if pressed." He snorted back at her. "Look maybe fighting demons from the sky isn't something I'm practiced at. But, show me someone who is. And like I said, there are treaties. Maybe this isn't a blight, but it's bloody well a disaster. Some will honor them. Being a warden means something to a lot of people. Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are."

If nothing else he did possess confidence and she'd seen him fight, using his weapons with a practiced hand. Grinning she reached out for an arm-clasp. "Warden Blackwall. The Inquisition accepts your offer."

"Good to hear. We both need to know what's going on, and perhaps I've been keeping to myself for too long." Smile lines wrinkled the warden's tanned face and his eyes blazed with commitment. "This Warden walks with the Inquisition."

Fortunately, Blackwall had his own horse tied near the cabin. Throwing his saddlebags over the animal's rump, he mounted and the Inquisition was once again on its way.

XXXXX

Long about midday the company arrived at the Crossroads and halted for a bite of lunch and a stretch before heading to Haven. They ate simple fare perched on a split-rail fence by the side of the road chatting amongst themselves quietly in the sunlight.

As Sian popped the last of a bit of cheese into her mouth, a soldier approached her. As he neared, Sian observed him. Heavy, unembellished armor, weighty maul strapped on his broad back and a sword breaker – all usual gear for a well-equipped mercenary fighter. But, she noticed the lack of a beard and a certain affect that clued her that the warrior was not physically a "he" – but a "she". For the Herald, this was simply an observation, and lacked any judgment. In fact, her own demeanor and physical expression had led to gender confusion on the part of others from time to time. Frankly, she didn't care about it. She simply was who she was and accepted others that way.

"Excuse me, do you have a moment." An even voice canted with the accent of Tevinter called to her. "I've got a message for the Inquisition, but I'm having trouble getting anyone to talk with me."

Dropping from the rail, Sian noticed that the Seeker was watching them with an unreadable look on her face. "I'm glad to assist. Who are you, soldier?" The Herald asked politely.

"Cremesius Acclassi, Krem for short - with the Bull's Chargers mercenary company. We mostly work out of Orlais and Nevarra." The soldier stood relaxed but vigilant, his voice crisp. "We got word of some Tevinter mercenaries gathering out on the Storm Coast. My company commander, Iron Bull, offers the information free of charge. If you'd like to see what the Bull's Chargers can do for the Inquisition, meet us there and watch us work."

Sian was intrigued. It was rare indeed for a merc commander to do anything for free or at a reduced price - even to get a job. "Interesting that he would share that freely. Tell me about him."

"As I said – name's Iron Bull. He's one of those Qunari. You know - the big guys with horns." Krem chuckled lightly, then continued, his voice tinged with respect. "He leads from the front, he pays well… and he's a lot smarter than the last bastard I worked for. Best of all he's professional. We normally accept contracts with whoever makes the first real offer. You're the first time he's ever gone out of his way to pick a side."

"And – he wants to put the Chargers to work for the Inquisition?" This was irregular, but the Herald sensed the potential.

"Look." The warrior ran his hand through his close-cropped hair. "We're loyal, we're tough and we don't break contracts. Ask around Val Royeaux if you want to check. Iron Bull wants to work for the Inquisition. He thinks you're doing good work."

"Good to meet you, Krem." Sian spoke warmly and nodded. "Let me talk with my companions and I'll see what I can do."

Clasping the Herald's arm, Krem grinned enthusiastically. "We're the best you'll find. Come to the Storm Coast and you'll see us in action."

XXXXX

"What do think?" Sian asked Cassandra as the companions mounted.

"The mercenary appeared to be well-equipped and well-fed." The Seeker sniffed, apparently nonplussed by Krem's appearance and demeanor. "It is reasonable to make an effort to meet with them."

The promise of a fresh fish dinner from Lake Calenhad lured Varric into agreement and Solas simply shrugged when Sian asked his opinion.

So it was that by the next midday, the Herald's company stood on a rise looking toward the coast.

"Check this out." Varric shifted his telescope to Sian.

As she peered through it, she could see a host of Venatori emerging from their hiding place in a copse of scrub pine by the beach. She chuckled as she observed that the Chargers and their huge Qunari commander were already poised to strike. "Well, they're not lacking in attention to detail that's for certain." Handing the delicate glasses back to Varric, she flashed Cassandra a grin. "Should we let them have all the fun, Seeker?"

Apparently, Cassandra was spoiling for a good fight. Her face was grim and her sword and shield were already in place. "It would be unworthy for us to let them fight our enemies without our assistance. We should go."

Sian and Cassandra led the way in a dead run for the beach, their horses tethered in safety. As the Venatori closed with the Mercenary Company, Solas and Varric scattered to covered positions and began supportive maneuvers, fireballs searing from Solas's staff and bolt after deadly bolt winging to targets from Bianca.

The Seeker and the Herald moved into the thick of the fighting and lining up their backs taunted the enemy and took on all comers. As warriors engaged, the two would sometimes swap positions confusing the respective combatants. At other times, Cassandra would crouch and Sian would swing Sulevin over her head slicing through necks. As the Seeker detected a magical projectile, she'd roll or lurch in front of Sian, shielding her and invoking purifying energy that nullified the effect and protected her.

Between the Chargers and Sian's company the Venatori were soundly routed, not one left standing at the conclusion of the fight.

As the last enemy fell, Sian heard the big Qunari commander call to his crew. "Chargers, stand down!" In a display of good order, the Chargers obeyed immediately. "Krem, how'd we do?"

The lieutenant's face glistened with coastal rain as he reported loud and clear. "Five or six wounded, Chief. No dead."

"That's what I like to hear. Let the throatcutters finish up, then break open the casks." Iron Bull praised him with a grim smile.

Krem turned to obey the orders as Sian strode to greet the waiting leader. Iron Bull was the first to speak. "So, you're with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it. Come on, have a seat. Drinks are coming."

The one-eyed man was so genial Sian nearly chuckled but settled for a wide smile instead. "You're Iron Bull, I presume."

"Yeah, the horns usually give it away." With a nod to his head, the Qunari led Sian to some nearby rocks to sit down. "I assume you remember, Cremesius Acclassi, my lieutenant."

Krem clearly was efficient in his work. With a pleasant nod to Sian, he addressed Bull. "Throatcutters are done, Chief."

"Already? Have'em check again. I don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away." The giant's horns swayed toward the killing ground and he chuckled. "No offense, Krem."

Shrugging, Acclassi bantered with a smirk as he strutted away. "None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?"

"So… You've seen us fight. We're expensive, but we're worth it… and I'm sure the Inquisition can afford us." The merc chief grinned.

Sian had watched the Chargers as she fought. They were well-organized, skilled and tough. That alone made them stand-outs. "Exactly how much will your services cost the Inquisition?"

Bull replied quickly. "It won't cost you anything personally, unless you're up for buying drinks later. Your ambassador – what's her name – um, Josephine?" It was clear that the man had given this some thought. "We'd go through her and get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself. Don't worry about that. All that matters is we're worth it."

"The Chargers are an excellent company."

"They are." The Qunari readily agreed, his voice serious. "But, you're not just getting the boys. You're getting me. You need a frontline bodyguard, I'm your man. Whatever it is – demons, dragons? The bigger the better." Bull stood and walked slowly toward his men, his good eye focused on Sian. "And – there's one other thing. Might be useful. Might piss you off. Ever hear of the Ben-Hassrath?"

Though Sian's experience with the Qunari had been limited to dealing with rogue Tal-Vashoth raiders, she'd heard a bit of the Ben-Hassrath. "They're the Qunari equivalent of guards or city watch as far as I know."

"I'd go closer to spies. But, yeah – that's them." Bull replied wryly. "Or, well – us." Leaning toward Sian, he spoke confidentially. "The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere." "I've been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge and send reports on what's happening. But, I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on. I'll share them with your people."

"You're a Qunari spy, and you're telling me?" Eyes wide, Sian stared in disbelief. "You could have hidden that from me."

"From something called the Inquisition? I would've been tipped sooner or later. Better you hear it right up front from me." The man's gaze was level, his affect open. "Here's the deal. I'll send just enough information back to keep my superiors happy. Nothing that'll compromise your operations. The Qunari want to know if they need to launch an invasion to stop the whole damn world from falling apart. You let me send word of what you're doing, it'll put some minds at ease. That's good for everyone."

The Herald considered his promise. Surely he wouldn't go to all of the trouble to confess unless he was sincere.

Cassandra strode to her side. Apparently she'd been listening quietly on the sidelines. "What is in these Ben-Hassrath reports you are willing to share?" She asked with narrowed eyes.

The merc commander seemed to be appraising the Seeker. By Sian's lights – perhaps a bit too much, but she kept her peace.

"Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. It's a bit of everything. Alone they're not much. But if your Spymaster is worth a damn. She'll put them to good use." Bull purred.

"She?" Cassandra drawled, her eyebrow arched at him.

"I did a little research." He replied with a jaunty wink. "Plus, I've always had a weakness for redheads." As he finished he sagely nodded to Sian, seeming to acknowledge her discomfort.

The Seeker must have noticed the subtle exchange. Her smile was bewildered as she nodded an affirmation to Sian. Exhaling sharply, the Herald's face tinted with blush at the recognition. After returning Cassandra's nod, she extended her arm to the Qunari. "All right – you're in. Welcome to the Inquisition."

 _[A/N – So, we're ready to take on our first bout with the Elder One. However, dear readers, before we get there, I will be taking a brief intermission. Regularly scheduled posting will return very soon. So – not to worry if you don't see a post for a couple of weeks. I will be back as quickly as I can. Thanks to all who are reading and following and as always, very special thanks to those who take the time to review!]_


	11. Chapter 10 - Embrace the Light

Chapter 10 – Embrace the Light

Sian woke from an eerie dreamscape filled with scraps of memory washed in oily green light. Despite the warmth of the down-filled quilt she nestled in, she shivered as she recalled disembodied voices and a vague sense of running with her heart bounding and her hand on fire.

Wearily she sat up, rubbed her gritty eyes and put her feet on the cold floor. Even if more sleep would come, she wished to forgo the nightmare. As she stood up, she glanced out of the eastern window. Through the frosted pane she could see the sky was streaked with the vibrant red-violet hues that accompanied early dawn. " _Today is the day"_ , she thought. " _I will make this right."_

Despite the fact that the little village of Haven had tripled in size since Sian's arrival, it was still. Steeped in the solitude she dressed. As she fastened her shirt and laced her breeches she thought of Cullen's comments the evening before. "The best of the mages are ready, Herald. Prepare yourself as you can, we cannot know how you will be affected."

She'd nearly died getting the Mark and she realized that it was entirely possible that she could die using it on the Breach. In fact, she still frequently contemplated how she had lived through it at all. Taking a deep breath she decided the best way to face it was to think of it as she did the smaller rifts. And – Cassandra… Cassandra would be there. With the Seeker at her side, she could face anything.

As Sian left her quarters the sun had just begun to peek over the painted horizon. The crescent moon and a scattering of stars lingered in a corner of the sky not yet ready to relinquish their hold on a new day. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed the emerald crack in the heavens looming over the ruined temple – her nemesis beckoning her to their fateful meeting.

The diamond pattern of Sian's lamellar armor sparkled in the frail light as she made her way to the Chantry only fading to a soft gleam as she entered the darkened nave. She dropped to her shins on a kneeler in a side chapel with every intent of shriving herself to meet the Maker if need be.

For a time she meditated; then, her voice raw, she whispered her devotions aloud. "Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond." She prayed fervently as she thought of Brigid, the Divine and those lost in the explosion of the Conclave. "For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost."

Suddenly, she felt a solid presence beside her.

"I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here." Cassandra's eyes met hers as she spoke the last stanzas of the Canticle of Trials. "Draw your last breath, my friends. Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, and be forgiven."

Sian had spoken those words many times in her life, but as she heard the Seeker's voice and returned her gentle smile they meant more than they ever had before. The only confession left was the one that filled her heart for the remarkable woman beside her. As she watched the Seeker in the mote filled light, she struggled to still her hand from caressing the face she had come to love. She desperately wanted to taste her lips and hold her close but she felt it was a selfish wish. Perhaps it was better for now if Cassandra didn't know.

The Seeker's topaz eyes were warm as she rose, her gaze intense. "You are ready?"

Quietly, Sian joined her. "I am." She felt ready but knew she would have to steel her heart if the Maker truly called, because with every ounce of her will she wanted to live.

XXXXX

The Seeker and the Herald fell in step as they led Solas, the mages, and a contingent of Inquisition troops to the temple. Cassandra marveled at the other woman's calm. Her own nerves were frayed and each echoing step felt like doom. But the Herald seemed confident, her jaw set and her eyes resolute in the gloom of the ruins.

Upon entry the Seeker watched as Sian strode without reservation to the rubble of the dais that lay beneath the Breach. As the mages filed in and began to take their places in the perimeter of the gallery, Cassandra felt her eyes suddenly fill and her chest clench. It was disconcerting to be in this place and in that suspended moment she thought of Galyan. She found herself sorrowfully glancing about at the sooty, human-shaped outlines that marked the scorched walls and wondered where he had stood. The flesh on her neck bristled as she realized that if she and Leliana had been even hours faster in their arrival they would have been here too. She felt the warmth of tears wash her cheeks, fresh with the knowledge that there had likely been nothing she could have done that would have saved any of them. The truth hit her like a bolt - he was not on an errand, his life had ended. She bowed her head and let him go with a heavy heart. " _Goodbye, my love. Rest in the Maker's embrace."_

Covertly, she wiped her stinging eyes then lifted her voice, boldly calling the enchanters to attention. "Mages!"

His staff held high, Solas instructed them. "Focus past the Herald! Let her will draw from you!"

Cassandra watched as Sian lifted her now glowing hand to the sky. As the mages released their power, the Herald clenched her teeth with the strain and radiated blinding light from the infusion of magic. The Mark sizzled and sparked as she directed it into the Breach. The sheer amount of energy channeling through the noble was stupefying and Cassandra was amazed at the control Sian exerted to keep it fixed on the target.

The giant rift began to pulse and for a moment the Seeker filled with dread. As quickly as it began, it ended with a bright flash of veridium light and an implosion that shook the earth. The blowback sent out a shockwave that rocked the ruin and hurled everyone from their feet.

Cassandra felt her body fly and land on the stone floor. Shaking her head, she swiftly stood and immediately began searching for Sian. The noble lay several feet away, unmoving. The Seeker felt her throat close as she hurried to the Herald. As she approached Sian gingerly lifted her head smiling gratefully at Cassandra as she supported her shoulders.

"You did it." The Seeker declared, her tone filled with relief and respect in equal measures.

"With a great deal of help." Sian's face wore that crooked smile as she rubbed the back of her head. "From them and from you."

"From me?" Cassandra snorted, her mouth tilted with amusement as she helped Sian to her feet. "I was simply present."

The Herald locked eyes with the Seeker and elicited a deep blush with her response. "Yes. But _you_ are the Right Hand – you are my Light."

XXXXX

Sian stood on the ramparts just below the Chantry, a wistful smile pressed on her lips as she watched Varric tease Lace Harding into a dance. The entire village was in the midst of celebrating the victory over the Breach. As the bruised sky closed to a scar, scarlet tones streaked the the morning, the classic sailor's prediction for stormy weather. True to that wisdom, conditions had turned gloomy but despite erratic bouts of heavy snowfall and grey clouds the folk of Haven were focused on merriment.

As an outpouring of laughter issued from the tiny tavern below, Sian heard the Cassandra's distinctive footfalls. "No dancing for you, Seeker?"

"Not if I can possibly escape doing so." Cassandra replied with a touch of scorn. "It is a waste of time. There are many other issues for which I bear more than a passing concern."

Sian pushed her hair back and smiled into her stern expression. "Sometimes a little revelry is good for the soul; lifts spirits on a cloudy day." She drew a deep breath as she continued and thrust her thumbs into the slack of her belt. "But, I take your point. The Elder One is still out there."

"He is. And we have no idea of who he is or where he hides." The Seeker's face softened as she considered her companion. "But this was a victory. Solas confirms that the heavens are scarred, but calm. The Breach is sealed. There are lingering rifts however, and many questions remain." Gesturing toward the throng of joyous folk below, she finished. "But this day they speak of you. You are their hero."

Sian's ears burned as her chin touched her chest. "No more a hero than you, or the mages, or Solas, or countless others. I was just lucky enough to be the one at the center."

"A strange kind of luck. I'm not sure if we need more or less." The Seeker lightly teased. "But you're right. This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory." Subtly, she rested her hand on the Herald's back. Her Nevarran accent softened and her words were warm as their eyes met. "I should not keep you from them. The people crave your company."

Sian stepped closer to Cassandra, her thoughts focused on confession. "But I crave y–"

The Herald's words were cut off by the sudden klaxon of the Chantry bells pealing out a warning of danger. Cullen was the first to bolt through the Chantry doors followed closely by Josephine, Mother Giselle and Leliana.

The Commander's voice rang like a ship captain's as he called to the Inquisition's troops. "Forces approaching! To arms!"

"Cullen?!" Cassandra's sword cleared its sheath with a brisk hiss.

"One watch guard has reported in." The Commander blew out a breath. "It's a massive force. The bulk is still over the mountain."

Some of the common folk were running toward the protection of the upper village, still clutching mugs and dancing partners as they came. Sian could just make out endless lines of torch-bearing troops in the misty distance.

Josephine gave voice to the question on her mind. "Under what banner?"

Cullen's brows were drawn in perplexity and his tone was firm. "None."

Sian and the Seeker shared a knowing glance. " _Speak of the demon and he appears_ ," Bann Trevelyan always said. The Herald was sure this time he was right as she felt her scalp rise and her skin ripple. If it was this Elder One, Sian had every intent of giving him a fight.

Gritting her teeth, she issued directions in a level tone. "Josephine, Leliana, would you be so kind as to marshal our people and as much of our stocks as you can to safety. I believe the rest of us have an unexpected appointment at the gates."

Sian led the rest at a dead run to the main gate. As they progressed, they directed troops to strategic positions in the village, gathering forces as they went, and sent clusters of civilians toward the sanctuary above. As they arrived at the gate, Sian witnessed a strange illumination behind the great doors and heard fists hammering on the timbers.

The voice of a young man could be heard over the din. "I can't come in unless you open!"

Enlisting the aid of a nearby soldier, she heaved the heavy door open only to be met by the sight of a massive Templar charging toward her. One – two - three steps the attacker took, his eyes flaring, his body glistening with chunks of embedded red lyrium, before the mysterious visitor unleashed a deadly barrage of daggers that felled the enemy from behind.

The boy stepped through the gates, his over-large, worn hat pulled low over his eyes and introduced himself. "I'm Cole. I came to warn you. To help! People are coming to hurt you! You probably already know…"

The Herald considered him closely - dirty, with downy blonde stubble, ragged clothes and ghostly pale skin. It was certain the odd young man had gone to a great deal of trouble to find her. Though her voice was authoritative, it also hinted of kindness. "Slow down. What have you come to tell me? What's going on?"

The boy looked at her with the demeanor of a Mabari pup. "The Templars come to kill you."

"Templars!" The mere thought appeared to instantly incense Cullen. "Is this the Order's response to our talks with the mages? Attacking blindly?!"

"The Red Templars went to the Elder One." Cole explained succinctly. His eyes were sorrowful as he peered from under the brim of his hat. "You know him? He knows you. You took his mages." Pointing to a ridge an arrow's shot away, he granted Sian the first view of her mortal enemies. "There! He's very angry that you took his mages."

"I know that man. That's Samson. I knew him in Kirkwall. He was a Templar. But he was lyrium-addled. An addict. Look at him now – he seems confident, strong." Cullen gazed at his former colleague in disbelief. "What is he doing with – that fiend?!"

"Evidently, the Elder One has chosen to reveal himself." Cassandra noted irritably. "But we have no time for speculation – we must move!"

"Yes. We must." Sian looked to the Inquisition's Commander expectantly, "Cullen. Give me a plan. Anything."

"Haven is no fortress." Cullen pushed back the curls from his forehead and snorted. "If we are to withstand this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything you can."

"Fine." It wasn't much, but Sian had been a defender before so she relayed perfunctory, flexible orders based on experience. "Seeker, Dorian and Varric with me. The rest of you, follow Iron Bull and the Chargers. They'll try to hit our defenses first, so protect the trebuchets and the walls. Everyone keep an eye out for stragglers and send them to the Chantry. Watch. Listen and trust your instincts – you know what must be done!" Sulevin gleamed in Sian's raised fist as a ray of light broke over the now massed Inquisition troops. "For the Inquisition!" Sian bellowed, already running for the western bulwark and the trebuchet within it. "For Haven!"

"For the Herald!" The troops cried out as one. "For Haven!"

Sian's party made it to the bulwark with little resistance, but at the trebuchet a large party of Red Templars were engaged with Inquisition troops. The enemy marching on the village seemed limitless. She could see thick lines of infantry relentlessly advancing, undulating like an overfed serpent through the pass to the village. Thinking quickly, Sian noticed the great bulk of snow and ice held back by a tree line over the approaching army and immediately began work to target the big machine as her party and a squad of soldiers struggled with the attackers at hand.

As the platform approached its proper mark, a huge knight broke through and swung for her head. Sian ducked, rolled, drew Sulevin and parried, meeting the Red Templar's eyes. At one point, it had been a woman like herself, now it was a horror. The thing was studded with chunks of the poison, shaped only by the scarlet lyrium embedded in bone and muscle. Gritting her teeth, Sian lashed out and sliced it open at the neck. But, still the knight bore down on her, stopping only when Dorian hit it with a powerful fireball.

Again, she stepped to the platform and swiftly worked the targeting wheel, finally setting it. Without delay, she fired the trebuchet. The machine launched several tremendous boulders that shot over the tree line and into the ridge on the side of the mountain, setting off an avalanche. Snow billowed and roared as it plunged down the incline and into the mass of Templar troops, burying them deep.

Nearby, Inquisition soldiers cheered at the sight, heartened by the demise of so many foes. But their hope was short-lived. The cry of a dragon echoed overhead and a monstrous beast dove into sight. On the ridge beyond the bulwark, the Elder One watched, snarling. Sian saw him raise a clawed hand and point toward the village and the dragon altered its course.

"You've got to be shitting me!" She heard Varric exclaim. "There are still village folk up there!"

"We must get them to the Chantry." Cassandra advised, her face flushed from the fighting. "It is their only hope."

Sian knew they were right. She could see enemy reinforcements bearing down on Haven's defenses and in her heart she felt a responsibility to the people. Her voice raised, she mustered the defenders, "Everyone to the gates!"

They hurried to the main gates to find Cullen motioning everyone inside. Even as the great doors closed behind them, the dragon launched a fiery attack on the village and buildings began to burn. Another run by the beast breached the stockade walls and Red Templars began pouring through the gaps.

As pandemonium reigned, Cullen shouted at the top of his lungs, "We need everyone back to the Chantry, it's the only thing that might hold against that beast! At this point, just make them work for it!"

People were struggling in every direction like ants in a maze, carrying belongings, crying out for loved ones and desperately scurrying to get to safety. Inquisition troops skirmished at the walls doing their best to delay the enemy and protect the village, many falling in the process.

His muscular chest heaving, Iron Bull and the Chargers met the Herald's party at the stone steps leading up. "Just tell us what you need, Boss!" The big Qunari offered, hefting his maul.

"Take Dorian and Varric. We need to make the rounds and get as many of our people to the Chantry as we can. Go west and hurry!" Sian told him breathlessly, then she turned to Cassandra and the troops that followed them in, "Follow me. We'll do the same on the eastern perimeter. Let's move!"

Sprinting to nearby cottages filled with flame and smoke, Seeker and Herald worked side by side evacuating people and fighting off small groups of Red Templars anxious to relieve them of their lives. After what felt like a lifetime of fighting fire and foe, they found themselves at the Chantry doors.

Sian grasped her knees and bent to catch her breath as Chancellor Roderick urged the last of the village folk into the building. The old man was severely wounded, she could see blood seeping around his fingers as he staunched a nasty wound in his gut. To her astonishment, it was Cole that was holding him upright as he motioned people to safety. "This way! The Chantry is your refuge!"

When the last survivor passed the doors, Sian hurried within and shouldered them closed. Her back to the timbers, she witnessed Roderick collapse into Cole's arms.

The odd boy carefully lowered the Chancellor onto a stool, his arm protectively wrapped around his back and looked at Sian, his strange eyes filled with otherworldly awareness. "He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He's going to die."

The clergyman coughed and drolly commented. "What a charming boy."

Eyes flashing, Cullen approached Sian. "Herald. Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. It's cut a path for that army. They'll kill everyone in Haven."

Glancing up from under his brim, Cole scowled. "The Elder One doesn't care about the village. He only wants the Herald."

The words stung Sian. The Elder One knew her – recognized her. She had no desire to die, but if giving herself would save the people – would save Cassandra?

She looked to the Seeker. Her eyes were strained and filled with tears as Sian took a deep breath and offered herself. "If it will save these people, if it will save you - he can have me."

She heard Cassandra's shuddered gasp as Cole piped up matter-of-factly, "It won't. He wants to kill you. No one else matters but he'll crush them – kill them anyway. I don't like him."

The Seeker turned away, her head bowed, her arms drawn tight to her breast.

"You – you don't like him!" Cullen scoffed. A plea in his eyes he turned to Sian. "Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche." The Commander sighed heavily. "We could turn the remaining trebuchet to cause one last slide."

Sian rubbed her jaw, her hand coming away blackened with ash. "Cullen, the enemy has breached the village. To hit them we'll bury Haven."

The former Templar grasped her shoulder and his face softened. "We're dying – but we can decide how. Many don't get that choice."

Sian's mind reeled. There had to be a way. Something – anything. Casting her eyes to the eccentric duo, she watched as Cole seemed to silently commune with the Chancellor and then spoke words of hope. "Yes, that. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies."

The old man's voice sounded distant. "There is a path. You would not know it unless you have made the summer pilgrimage as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me – Andraste must've shown me so I can tell you."

"What path?" Sian knelt before the wounded Chancellor. "What are you talking about, Roderick?"

His face leeched of color, his lips pale, he appeared near death, but he spoke clearly, "It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start. It was overgrown. Now, with so many in the conclave dead - to be the only one that remembers. I don't know. If this simple memory can save us this could be more than mere accident. **You** – could be more."

Sian glanced at the Commander. "What about it, Cullen? Will it work?"

"Possibly. If he shows us the path. What of your escape?"

Standing up, Sian looked to her companions. "I'll take Cassandra, Varric, Dorian and a small squad to load the trebuchet. Mark the path and we'll follow as soon as we fire it."

"Keep the Elder One's attention until we're above the tree line. If we are to have a chance, let that thing hear you!" Cullen pivoted toward the gathering in the Chantry and glanced over his shoulder. "Maker go with you all."

Roderick was on his feet, his arm draped around Cole's neck. Holding his belly he began to move to the head of the crowd but he stopped next to Sian. "Herald, if you were meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this - I pray for you."

The Herald smiled benevolently at the determined man. "Keep our people safe, Chancellor. I will pray for you too."

She watched as Cole helped him limp through the gathering and heard Cullen's voice echo through the nave. "Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!"

Sian sensed the Seeker as she stepped to her side, her voice urgent, but gentle. "We must hurry if we are to succeed. Our lives – _your_ life, depends upon it."

As Sian considered her words, she studied Cassandra and was stunned to see her own emotions reflected in her face. Speech was unnecessary as she understood that they were both thinking back to their shared devotions in this place. There was tenderness and deep care in the Seeker's eyes, and though she was sweat streaked and smudged, she was beautiful. For a moment Sian considered sending her with Cullen, but Cassandra seemed to detect her intent and slowly shook her head. Sighing deeply, the Herald grasped a latch, shoved the door open and led her followers to their final objective in Haven.

Sian took the eastern slope past the burning remains of the tavern. Her voice hushed, she issued instructions as they progressed. "Don't engage the Templars until it's absolutely necessary. Stay close. When we get to the trebuchet – Troops, focus on getting it loaded and then getting clear as soon as possible. The Seeker will have my back and Dorian and Varric will provide ranged support."

The area around the trebuchet appeared to be vacant, but as they neared it, Sian could see movement over the back path. The scrub at the head of the trail was lit with the tell-tale scarlet glow of a mass of rapidly approaching Templars. While her troops loaded the bucket, the Herald began working the targeting wheel. Behind her she could hear her crew as they met the enemy. It took all of her focus not to join them. But she knew she had little time to get the machine set to launch.

Just as she began the final twists to the mechanism, she heard Varric cry out behind her.

"Look out, Seeker!" The rogue bellowed as he fired bolt after bolt into what looked like a golem made of red lyrium.

Cassandra's body crashed into hers and they both fell to the platform. Sian swiftly pushed herself up. "What is that thing?!"

"It once was Knight-Captain Denim." The Seeker informed her, her voice tinged with sadness. "But – no longer."

The giant had been distracted by Varric's shots, but it turned back to the trebuchet platform, its fiery eyes focused on the warriors and raised its heavy crystal fist, ready to pulverize them. The two women dove from the platform and rolled to either side of the monster, swords flaring as they slashed and hacked trying to weaken it.

Dorian hit it with a steady barrage of ice attacks and Varric continued to empty Bianca with round after round of lethal shots, but the thing kept coming. Nothing seemed to stop it. In a bid to inflict heavy damage, the Seeker bravely lunged toward it and buried her determined blade in a fissure in its chest. Roaring, the behemoth lurched upright and ripped her from her embedded weapon, then thrust her against the trebuchet.

The echo of bone hitting timber gripped Sian with absolute terror as she looked on. "Cassandra!" She cried out in anguish as the Seeker splayed unmoving against the frame. Agonized and raging, Sian felt herself fill with the power she'd felt from the mages at the temple. It twisted within her, begging her to take it – use it. She had no idea of how to form it, but it burned her mind, urging release. For a moment, she felt swept into it and saw herself weep as she glanced at the Seeker's still frame.

Without warning, the hammer-hand of the Knight-Captain loomed above Cassandra ready to strike a killing blow. With preternatural speed Sian raced to the fallen warrior. Standing over her protectively, teeth clenched, she embraced the magic, channeled her purpose to the heavens, and unleashed the power in a torrent of invincible white light that engulfed the monster, setting it aflame and casting a nimbus of protection over the warriors. As she watched, the lumbering dreadnought crumbled at her feet, its remains dust in a sudden wind.

Tears washed her face as she stooped and felt the Seeker's neck for a pulse. "Cassandra?" Her voice quivered as she whispered her name.

The Seeker's eyes fluttered briefly. "You – you made… light." She rasped, then lolled back into unconsciousness.

Sian lifted her. "I've got to get you out of here." She murmured, holding her close.

Varric gripped the Herald's shoulder. Looking up she met Dorian's sympathetic eyes. With a heavy sigh, she pleaded with them. "Take her. Get to safety. Follow the path. I'll finish here and be right behind you."

The Tevinter mage stooped and easily lifted the Seeker over his broad shoulders. "Not to worry, Herald. She's in good hands." He glanced at Varric. "Would you be a good man and bring my staff along? Oh – and don't point it at anything. Especially me."

Varric scoffed. "You know dwarves can't use magic."

"Yes." The mage huffed, adjusting Cassandra's weight. "A disability for which I'm eternally grateful."

Just at that moment, the dragon's wings could be heard overhead, its screams growing louder as it approached. The hackles on Sian's neck rose. The Elder One was coming. "You've got to go! Take no chances! Keep her safe and Maker go with you! Now. Go!"

The rogue and the mage were already cresting the hill to the Chantry when the dragon strafed the Herald's position. Walls of blazing fire surrounded the clearing, cutting Sian off from the path. The knowledge that she might die in this place permeated her, but she was unafraid. Cassandra would be safe, the people would be safe – that's all that mattered.

Sian turned again to the wheel and finished the targeting rotation just as the tall, sinister shape of the Elder One strode through the flames. The dragon swooped close over her head and she ducked, lost her balance and tumbled from the platform, dropping her sword by the targeting wheel as she fell. Groaning, she looked up to see the winged beast on the ground behind her, coming for her.

However, the Elder One had other plans it seemed. "Enough." The giant being rasped at the dragon, his voice dry as death. The dragon halted, watching Sian with a wary eye.

Still prone, the terrible figure loomed over her and spoke, his tone lethal. "Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken **NO** more."

Mustering every ounce of courage within, Sian spat at him. "Whatever you are, I'm not afraid!"

The blighted form's chuckle sounded like the rustling of withered leaves. "Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies. Mortals wish for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are… what I once was. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The Will that is Corypheus. You **WILL** kneel."

"I won't! Not of my own will!" The Herald assured him, her jaw tense. "But, I would understand. You're forcing this fight for no reason."

"You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not. Your understanding is not required. If you gain it – consider yourself blessed." Corypheus reached within his tattered Magister's robe, revealing sinew and misshapen muscles stretched over bleach white ribs and withdrew a glowing orb. "I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins **now**."

A sticklike finger lashed out, directing a flow of energy from the artifact. Sian tried to rise, but was paralyzed by its power. Every joint, every bone in her body raged with pain. Her muscles seized and the Mark smoked and sizzled as it drank greedily from the orb's power. The torture seemed to last an eternity.

Finally, the flow stopped as abruptly as it began and Sian fell back against the dirt, every nerve on fire, her eyes closed, too weak to struggle.

His plan thwarted, the Elder One was losing patience. "It is your fault, Primus – Chosen of the Maker. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning. Instead of dying – you stole its power. But what marks you as touched - what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens. And you used the anchor to undo my work. The gall!"

Sian's lungs flamed as she spoke. "Why did the Divine die? For this chaos?"

His calm restored, Corypheus loomed over her, his feet on either side of her chest. "The chaos will empower me and ensure we no longer beg at the feet of the invisible. It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you – the certainty that I would always come for it."

The Herald felt herself hauled to her feet, her still sparking Mark stretched over her head, then felt herself lifted high from the ground. Her body limp, she dangled from Corypheus's clawed hand wrapped around her wrist.

The darkspawn drew her close and she smelled his fetid breath, felt its humidity as he lectured. "I once breached the fade in the name of another to serve the old gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption - dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused, but no more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the gods and it was empty."

Disgusted, Corypheus tossed the Herald away like a rag doll onto the trebuchet platform and began to stalk toward her. "The anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling."

As she fell, Sian's hand landed on the hilt of Sulevin. Quickly, she blinked and the fog in her eyes lifted. _"If these are my last moments. If I must die…"_ Looking up she spied the winch that would launch the trebuchet and bury the village.

Her inner ear heard the Seeker's voice, _"I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here."_

The Light, her Light. _"I won't fail in my duty. I won't fail… Cassandra."_ Grasping her sword, she lurched to her feet. Fighting waves of nausea, she stood defiant against the ancient magister.

Corypheus halted his advance just long enough to render judgement. "So be it. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation - and god - it requires. And you, I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You **must** die!"

Sian drew a long breath of clean air as a mountain wind washed over her and lunged to the winch, delivering a swift kick to the handle. "Your arrogance blinds you. Enjoy your victory – here's your prize!"

The trebuchet fired and the load of boulders rapidly struck the tree line above the village releasing a cascade of snow and ice. Leaving the Herald to her fate, Corypheus mounted the dragon and retreated from the impending disaster.

Sian dove from the back of the platform, rolled and gathering her feet began to run down the mountain. Frantically, she scanned ahead looking for safety and tripped over a crag. She landed on a weathered, forgotten mine-shaft door that promptly gave way and found herself falling yet again - into an abyss.

 _[A/N – I've made it back! Apologies for the delay and for the cliffhanger. I promise, it won't be long 'til the next post. As always, I appreciate the reviews and encouragement. Your faves and follows and presence are tremendous gifts to me. So heartfelt thanks to all who dare to read along!]_


	12. Chapter 11 - Escape

Chapter 11 - Escape

Dorian moved quickly with Varric leading the way to the Chantry. True to his word, Cullen marked the steep escape route and the two men were able to follow despite gusting snow and high winds. Though initially, they had to avoid the flames consuming brush and building alike as they'd traversed the village, to their great relief there were no enemies to challenge them as they moved through the upper forest and onto the open path through the Frostbacks.

From their vantage point at the top of the pass high above Haven they could just make out the Herald's last position. Doggedly plowing through deep drifts, they made frequent, short stops to watch behind for any sign of Sian, but to no avail. Out of breath from the climb, they spied the main body of the Inquisition moving further into the mountains and hurried to join them. As they approached, the rear guard parted to allow Leliana and Cullen through.

Leliana was the first to reach them, her face alarmed as she surveyed the scene, hand gripping her cloak against the wind. A quick word to her scouts brought a stretcher and Dorian was rapidly relieved of Cassandra's unconscious body. Immediately, Vivienne began ministering to the wounded Seeker.

"What happened?! Where is the Herald?" Leliana urgently questioned the mage and the rogue.

Varric kicked the snow in disgust and cast his eyes down the steep incline toward the burning village in the distance. "She got cut off from us. The trebuchet was positioned, almost ready to fire – but the Elder One and his dragon interrupted our escape plan. The Herald ordered us to get the Seeker out of there – for us to go ahead." Rubbing his neck, he sighed mournfully. "She was supposed to follow."

"Our bejeweled little friends seem to be inconvenienced at the moment. The flames surrounding the village have no doubt detained them." Dorian added, stretching his back. "We were fortunate to get away with our lives – it was a close call."

"The Herald is still down there?!" Cullen stepped to the ridge and squinted to the village perimeter far below.

"I'm afraid she is." Brow furrowed, Dorian joined him. "The Elder One dropped in on her just as we made it to the Chantry. At that point, the flames in the village cut us off. In any event, we were too far away to be of assistance."

As the survivors of Haven and the leaders of the Inquisition watched horror-stricken, they witnessed the boulders launched from the trebuchet strike the opposing ridge, unleashing the planned avalanche on the village. In the blink of an eye, the fires of Haven were extinguished by countless tons of ice and snow and the village was rapidly interred in the frosty maelstrom. Through the settling clouds of debris and smoke, the silhouette of a dragon with a lone rider was just visible as it made its escape through the swirling mists above.

"No one could survive that." Cullen's head dropped to his chest. His voice resounded with desperation as he spoke. "We've got to get these people moving. The Elder One appears to have moved on for now but more of his army could still be out there."

"We do not know that, Cullen!" Leliana's eyes were narrowed, her mouth set in resistance to the observation. "She may yet live. We cannot simply abandon her!"

Arms crossed, Dorian cast his support to the Spymaster. "I would agree. Ser Trevelyan has proven extremely difficult to kill. She may yet live – and I, for one, would not discount that possibility."

The sound of a timid voice piped up behind the Spymaster. "Sister Nightingale." Lieutenant Harding moved in with a small squad of scouts. "With your permission, we volunteer to search."

"It would be very dangerous for you. Are you certain you're all willing to take the risk?" Cullen asked warily.

"We are." Harding solemnly gestured to her squad. "It's the least we can do, and in any event, you need to know if we're being followed. We'll look for the Herald and report in as soon as we can."

Leliana's smile was tight, but her eyes reflected her gratitude. "You have my permission and our thanks. I will be waiting for your report, Lieutenant. Look for us farther up the path into the mountains. Go – and may Andraste guide your steps."

The intrepid scout and her squad rapidly moved down the trail toward Haven and were swiftly out of sight as Vivienne approached the Spymaster. "Sister Leliana dear, I've done all I can for Cassandra under these conditions, but she took a particularly nasty blow to her head. I seriously doubt that she will awaken anytime soon. She can travel in one of the wagons, but she needs rest to fully recover. I would strongly suggest that we not delay making camp for long."

The Spymaster felt her stomach churning as she followed the healer to the unconscious Seeker's side. Cassandra was pale and unnaturally still, but her breaths were deep and even. Leliana knelt beside her and stroked her arm affectionately. She knew the Seeker to be tough. She knew Vivienne spoke the truth. But, she also had a feeling that if Sian had perished – a part of the Seeker might very well follow and the Inquisition with them.

XXXXX

Slush dripped from an ice flow perched above and pooled on the Herald's face, the chill bringing her to wakefulness as it streamed down her neck. Sian wasn't certain how long she'd lingered on the frost-covered cave floor, but as she opened her eyes, twilight seemed to be filtering from the ragged mine shaft opening far overhead. It seemed odd to feel like every fiber, every bone of her body was on fire while at the same time she trembled, her joints and flesh stiffened with cold. Little puffs of steam issued from her lips reminding her with each painful breath that life still filled her chest. Gritting her teeth, she tried to rise but she soon realized that heavy door-frame timbers had followed her sudden descent and now rested across her body. She pushed against them and felt them give, but she was too weakened, too depleted to move them.

It seemed an absurdity as she thought of her situation. She'd escaped not only Corypheus and his dragon, but the avalanche she started with the trebuchet. She winced as she considered the amount of ice and snow she was now trapped beneath. It seemed a supernatural joke that she would survive the confrontation and the cataclysm above only to die trapped in a hole in the ground. But even if she was dying, she'd given her companions a chance, given the people of Haven a chance, to escape Corypheus's wrath. Her last muzzy thought as she lost consciousness for the second time was of Cassandra – did she survive or would she see her somewhere beyond the Veil?

Hours ticked by while Sian lay senseless beneath the debris. As the temperature dropped with the coming of night she felt her eyes open and realized she was in complete darkness except for the glow of the Mark. She heard earth shifting in the distance – the mine could collapse and there could be anything lurking within the shafts. If she wanted to live – then she needed to move. No one would know to search here, no one would find her – there was no help coming.

She pushed herself up and felt a piece of the skin on her jaw tear away and a piercing pain in her chest as she began to rise from the frozen floor. Ignoring the burn of it, she got to her knees, took a deep, rasping breath and pushed with her shoulders until the timbers shifted, then fell flat from the effort. Allowing herself a moment's rest, she pushed up again and felt the frozen door frame slide away into the dark. Free from the detritus, she was able to gradually stand, her extremities trembling. She knew she was badly injured and freezing but she felt strengthened by the reassuring heft of Sulevin sheathed to her back.

Using the Mark as a feeble torch, she could just make out the mine walls. Cautiously, she began to work her way along them. She had no idea where they led, but there was no other way out so she followed. Her movements were slow, she felt like she was walking underwater. With every step she felt electricity shoot through her body and her eyes involuntarily stream as she struggled to endure. There was no sense of time, no way to determine distance.

Leaning against a cavern wall, her chin resting on her chest, she tried to work through the jumble of thoughts in her head and the agony in her flesh. Corypheus's words filled her with questions and dread, she had no idea if the people of Haven and her comrades still lived and where they were. Worse, she knew she needed help and she had no idea where she was going. In the grip of despair, it seemed pointless to move.

" _Find me in the present."_ Cassandra's inimitable voice seemed to speak words of hope and faith next to her ear. _"I am not alone. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see The Light is here."_

Closing her eyes, she could clearly see the Seeker's face as she'd stood in the Chantry and remembered her phantom touch in the dungeon at Redcliffe. She felt her eyes steam as she recalled how pale and unmoving she was when Dorian carried her away. "For you – because of you, I want to live." Sian whispered, her heart intent on finding its way to Cassandra.

Decision made, Sian set her jaw and force-marched every step. It felt like she'd journeyed for hours when she came to a cavern that lit the Mark up like a brush-fire. Her body had passed beyond mere cold and pain to utter lack of feeling long before now, but her marked hand burned as hot as a brand. Demons? A rift? She wasn't sure but it didn't matter. Her only focus was on finding the Seeker and if she had to go through demons to do it – so be it.

Shortly, she passed the mouth of the cave and a flock of fiends descended. As she wearily raised her hand, she realized that the Mark had altered somehow – it pulsed, danced with light in time to the rhythm of her heart. Thinking back to the energy she felt on the platform as she made light, she instinctively knew what to do. Casting her palm over the heads of the onslaught, she summoned a rift and felt her eyes widen as it effortlessly pulled the demons within it. Snatching her hand back, she closed the tear, sealing the horde in the Fade.

Beyond exhausted, body too numb to care, she shuffled through the cavern and into the elements of the wild, vaguely making a note to have a long talk with Solas – if she ever saw him again.

XXXXX

The Seeker awoke with a start. Blinking, she started to rise and felt a hand on her shoulder. "Lie back, Cassandra." A kind voice told her through the ringing in her ears.

The light hurt her eyes, but she forced herself to focus anyway. Countless questions thrust into the forefront of her mind as the fog began to lift from her senses. Shooting spots momentarily obscured her vision, but they soon cleared and she could see Leliana's worried face. "Where – where are we?" The words came out like a croak from her dry throat. "How long? What of the people? Are they safe?"

"Drink this, it will help." The Spymaster eased her up and offered her a mug of spiced Antivan tea. "You are safe, my friend. The enemy has retreated and we have been camped here, in the Frostbacks, since last night. And, yes – with the notable exception of the troops who gave their lives defending us, almost all of the villagers and refugees escaped."

Indeed, as she sipped the soothing brew, she realized she was safe. Warm, clean and resting under a number of thick blankets, she was horrified to discover that she was also nude.

The look on her face evoked an ironic snort from her friend. "There is no need to worry. Your unquestionable virtue is intact. No one has seen you like this except for me - and Lady Vivienne as she has worked to heal you."

"Good." She replied flatly, beginning to gather a blanket around her, her eyes searching for her garments. "How is it that I came to be here?" Suddenly, she stopped and stared at Leliana. "Where is the Herald?"

"Dorian and Varric brought you under her orders." Leliana glanced at her hands, a slight grimace marring her delicate features. She took a shuddering breath, closed her eyes and spoke quietly, her voice grave, the words seeming to stick in her throat. "But - the Herald is missing."

"Missing!" The Seeker's brain was a sudden storm of activity. Rapidly, she tried to think back, to remember. "We were fighting the Knight-Captain… and she – she made light. I must have my clothing, Leliana! I must find her!" Frantic, eyebrows raised to the tent beam, she tried to stand, only to feel her legs give out from under her and lightning shoot through her brain.

"No." Sister Nightingale told her firmly, her grip steady as she helped her lie back on the cot. "You are lucky you're not dead. You nearly broke your skull. It's a good thing Pentaghasts are made of dragonbone, no?" Tucking the blanket around her, she continued. "If you promise to stay in bed, I will give you your clothes and find Dorian or Varric. One of them can explain what happened better than I."

Concern for Sian overrode her stubborn streak and Cassandra acquiesced. "Very well. I promise to do so."

"I have scouts backtracking, searching the area for her. I expect to hear from them soon." Leliana assured her, lightly chafing her hand. "We will find her, Cassandra."

In truth, Cassandra thought about breaking her promise in the Spymaster's absence, but she tried again to rise and her head began to violently spin. For a time she lay in quiet, listening to the sounds of the bustling camp outside the tent. But she could not rest. Instead her thoughts turned to Sian. During the Elder One's attack, Trevelyan had worked miracles.

The events of the day before reeled in the Seeker's mind. She could see Sian's face as they prayed together in the chapel. The Herald had shone with an unnatural light and when she'd cast her caring, determined eyes on the Seeker, it had been all Cassandra could do to breathe.

Absently, she felt for the leather cord holding the amulet around her neck and for a moment she felt Sian's fingertips as she traced the length, her touch tender. Cassandra quivered as she reached for the rune and felt its warmth healing her, protecting her. Without it, she was sure she would have died. It was certain she would have died if Sian hadn't stopped the creature attacking her at the trebuchet. How had she managed it? She recognized the magic as an invocation of the purifying power the Seekers of Truth called Embrace the Light. The Herald appeared to exhibit abilities only granted to Seekers. How was it possible?

In the temple, Sian had referred to her as "my Light". What did she mean? It was abundantly clear that Sian was much more than just another just another warrior. She was extraordinary. Cassandra thought to those last moments in the Chantry. Sian had been willing to sacrifice herself for the people – _and personally, for me_. As she heard the words from the Herald's lips offering herself in exchange for their lives it had stricken her heart. It couldn't have come to that. Images of Sian lying broken, wounded, alone, dead or dying in the depths of late winter grieved her deeply. _Where are you?_ _Sweet Andraste guide her, bring her back to us… to me…_

XXXXX

As night covered the Inquisition's campsite, Leliana stood at the outskirts watching into the darkness. Snowflakes settled into little drifts on her hood as she leaned against a crag. From time to time, she shuffled her feet to ward off the numbing cold attacking her toes.

"How long have you waited?" Cassandra asked briskly as she joined her, her headache diminished to a dull roar.

"Much longer than I might wish." The Spymaster answered wryly, blowing into her gloved hands. "What are you doing up and about?"

"I could tolerate it no longer." Cassandra pulled her Seeker's cloak closed, her arms crossed beneath it. "You know I am not one to lie abed when there is much to be done."

"Or, when the Herald is missing." Her eyebrow canted knowingly, Leliana shifted upright.

Choosing to let the Sister's remark pass, Cassandra pressed her concerns. "Has there been word from the scouts?"

"Yes. One of our ravens returned a short time ago. They are close and should report in soon." The Spymaster squinted and was just able to make out several forms approaching in the snow. "Lieutenant Harding!" She beckoned.

Shoulders slumped, steps slow in the pristine depths, the scouts wearily made their way in. "Sister Nightingale, Seeker Pentaghast." Harding nodded respectfully, shivering.

"What did you find?" Leliana inquired softly, her voice a chime in the wind.

The scout's teeth chattered despite her heavy winter gear as she made her report. "Nothing helpful I'm afraid. The village is completely buried. There's no sign of anyone alive down there. The good news is that there's no sign of the Elder One or his Red Templars following us."

"There is no evidence of the Herald or her whereabouts?" The Seeker's brows gathered.

Harding looked at her feet, then at Cassandra, her eyes despondent. "Believe me, Seeker. We scouted the entire surroundings of Haven and well past the river. We hoped that we'd find her, or a trail – or well, anything that might lead us to her. But there was nothing. I'm truly sorry."

The warrior looked crestfallen. Her head dropped to her chest in silence as Leliana placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, her own eyes filled with strain. "I'm so sorry, Cassandra."

Her eyes compressed, the Seeker held up her hand to ward herself and spoke quietly, her voice stricken. "I need… I must have…" Clearing her throat, she tried to form words. "A moment. Alone."

Leliana nodded, then gesturing to her troops, turned toward her nearby tent.

Cassandra heard a drawn out keen and realized that it issued from her own lips. The breath seemed to have been drawn from her lungs and she gasped, fighting her body's rabid desire to sob. Incredulous, she rested her fevered head against the crag Leliana had vacated and she prayed. "This cannot be. Maker, hear my plea. Do not take yet another from me. I can bear no more of this."

She stood for some time in the bitter cold, heedless. Her heart felt like a void in her chest, but it made no sense to stand there waiting when the one she most wanted, needed to see, wouldn't be coming. Pushing herself from the rock, she tearfully looked one last time into the dark perimeter. In the distance, she could just make out snow churning beneath slow footfalls as a lone figure emerged from the shadows of the tree line.

She knew that silhouette on sight and she raced to it, cloak streaming, mindless of any obstacle, heedless of the frosty wind, her face beaming. "Thank the Maker!" She shouted as she drew close. "Leliana! Cullen! It's the Herald!"

Sian's eyes seemed to drink greedily from the Seeker's gaze until she collapsed at Cassandra's feet, smiling serenely as her battered, frozen body gave out.

XXXXX

Leliana barred the Seeker's way as she attempted to follow Vivienne and the apothecary, Adan, into the healer's tent. "Cassandra, let them work. They will let us know when we may see her."

"But – I…" She sputtered and crossed her arms in defiance. "She should not be – "

"There is nothing you can do right now." Leliana tilted her head away and gently tugged her bicep, urging her away. "Rest, then you may come back when they are finished."

Reluctantly, she gave in. But later, when the healer arrived she immediately came to attention and hurried to get to Sian's side before Adan could even get the words out that it was permissible.

As she arrived at the tent, she rubbed the back of her head, unsure of herself, suddenly conflicted, but unable to stay away. Cautiously she entered to find Vivienne tucking blankets around Sian's still form.

For a moment, she was shocked as she took in the visible damage. The color the healers had restored to the noble's face acted as a backdrop for a patchwork of bruises, raw flesh and scores of cuts, and the visible bits of her upper body were wrapped with tight bandages.

"How bad is it?" Cassandra couldn't begin to imagine where the Herald had been or what she'd gone through to make it back, let alone what she'd encountered after her own head injury. "Will she live?" The words sounded bleak – even to her own ears as she continued to stare.

"In my considered opinion. Yes, she will live." The mage appeared to be quite confident. "It was a close thing. The punctured lung nearly killed her and I don't know how she possibly traveled with a dislocated shoulder, broken collarbone and ribs, and more contusions and lacerations than one of your favorite practice dummies. The freezing temperatures alone were enough to do her in dressed as she was. The Herald is possibly one of the most resilient creatures I've ever met."

In that moment, Cassandra wanted nothing more than to simply be present with Sian. For some reason, she felt compelled to be close and the presence of the mage suddenly felt like an annoyance. Some idea of why flitted close in her mind – but she refused to grasp it. "The Inquisition is grateful for your assistance, Lady Vivienne. If you are finished I wish to stay for a time."

"You are, of course, most welcome for my services, my dear. I'm honored to place my skills at the Inquisition's disposal." Her eyes soulful, Madame de Fer pushed the hair from the unconscious Herald's forehead with one long, meticulously polished nail. "Poor, brave darling. It's as much exhaustion as it is the effects of the cold and her injuries I'm afraid. The best thing for her right now is sleep."

Irritation in her voice, Cassandra protectively slid past the mage to the stool by Sian's cot and sat down. "Then I shall sit here and make certain she is not disturbed."

"A healthy pastime for you, my dear, considering your own injury." The mage lightly laughed. As she tidied the tent, she turned to the Seeker, a graceful smile on her mouth, her voice measured and deliberate. "Cassandra, you care a great deal for our Herald."

"Of course I do." The Seeker scowled defensively, crossing her arms. "She is my friend."

"What an interesting definition!" Vivienne's eyes twinkled as they met hers. "Truly, it might bode well for you to rethink that."

"I do not take your meaning." Cassandra seethed, feeling her earlobes burn. "Why should I do so?"

"Darling, you are the Seeker of Truth here. I believe you well know _exactly_ what I mean, and very likely why you might do so." Elegantly pivoting to leave, the mage looked at her pointedly. "Oh – and you simply _must_ pass on my admiration for that lovely piece of jewelry you're wearing. Besides being a sweetly sentimental, perfectly sensible fashion statement – it very effectively augmented my healing skills. Quite – fortuitous. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Ugh." Cassandra scoffed as the mage departed, though her inner child was goading her to stick out her tongue. Normally she regarded Vivienne with respect, but her knowing, condescending inferences and the way she'd gazed fawningly upon Sian put her teeth on edge.

With an eagerness that surprised her, she turned to the sleeping Herald. Though she knew they were close in age, the noble looked terribly young, almost fragile by the light of the brazier. Resting her hands on her knees, she steepled her fingers and rested her chin on them, studying the noble. Reminded of the healing power of her own rune, she reached for the hilt of Sulevin and carefully placed it just under the edge of the covers with the matching rune in the pommel touching Sian's hand. Easing back, she resumed her contemplative posture.

Sian Trevelyan, former Knight-Captain of Ostwick, had become an enigma. Capable of channeling power, skilled with her blade and her mind, decisive and strong-willed, she had a great deal in common with the Seeker. But deep down, Cassandra knew there was more. She'd never experienced physical and emotional attraction to a woman before and the intensity of their connection stole her breath away. The potential depth was more than she could imagine. Were they friends, or as Vivienne and others had intimated, was there something else?

As Cassandra continued her reverie, she was astounded as she thought about how frequently and miraculously Sian had escaped death. But this time, she'd come so close and instead of the Seeker protecting her, she'd protected the Seeker. Cassandra's own thoughts just a few hours before came back to haunt her. She remembered praying, "Do not take yet another from me." _Another?!_

When the truth hit Cassandra it felt like the world had fallen from beneath her feet. When she realized that she meant "another that I love"– she felt the color drain from her face. _Is this so? The ones I love_ _ **are**_ _taken from me. This cannot be – she must remain my friend._

The Herald of Andraste lay before her and immediately her thoughts went to her own failure to protect Sian. Unwilling to even consider that she had been grievously wounded, she berated herself for her own carelessness and vowed it would not happen again. She could not allow herself to believe that anything more was permissible. Aside from the fact that being with a woman was foreign idea, the Inquisition needed the Herald. She needed to put duty first and that meant containing her own emotions and any curiosity or desire that followed them as well.

But, even in her unconscious state, the Herald drew her as easily as a butterfly is drawn to a cone flower. Thin rivulets streamed from her temples as she convinced herself that for the few hours left of this night she would open her heart, but that with the light of day – she would make it her mission to resist. Tenderly, she smoothed the incorrigible ruffle of hair over Sian's ear and kissed her delicately on the forehead as her heart broke. _I must never speak, or think - of this again._


	13. Chapter 12 - To Skyhold

Chapter 12 – To Skyhold

As misty morning in the Frostback Mountains filled with the light of a cloudy day, Dorian entered the healer's tent. Cassandra was bent from her stool and her head lay just over Sian's shoulder on a shared pillow, her hand resting lightly on the Herald's chest. The two warriors were sound asleep. His eyes gentle, moved at the sight, the mage delicately roused the Seeker. "Cassandra." He called her in hushed tones, hesitant to attempt to awaken her by touch. Though he was fairly certain she'd never really punched a bear, he thought it best not to tempt fate.

As she began to rouse, she slowly sat upright and rolled her neck. She looked like she'd barely slept, her eyes reddened and deep-set as she looked up at him. "I was watching over her." She told him in a hoarse, subdued voice, gesturing to the still sleeping noble.

Normally, he might have teased her about the proximity, but in truth she looked so tortured he couldn't bring himself to do it. He cleared his throat and explained his presence in a whisper. "Cullen is asking for you. He and the others are having one of their little strategy discussions. Are you well enough to attend or should I beg off for you?"

With a quick glance at the Herald she stretched and stood, but her movements seemed hesitant. "No. I am fine. I must go if they need me."

"It's alright, Seeker," the mage told her, his mouth twitching impishly. "The Empress is not expecting me for morning coffee. I'll sit with her."

"Not long ago I would have declined, but you are a better man than I judged you to be." Cassandra solemnly shared. "For that – I am sorry. Varric told me that you carried me from Haven – so I owe you my life. For that I am grateful."

His countenance gleamed like a newly-minted sovereign in the dim light as he bowed with a flourish but kept his voice low. "All in a day's work, Lady Pentaghast. Work I'm quite proud of by the way." Taking the vacant stool, he settled his robes around him and stretched out his legs offering her assurance as she donned her cloak and stepped to the tent flap. "Never fear - she's in good hands."

"I believe that or I would not be leaving." She retorted, one eyebrow arched. "And despite my current opinion – I will still be watching you, Tevinter."

"It would tear my soul to shreds should you fail to do so, Seeker. I will make it my mission to remind you if you stint in your duty." He smugly grinned at what had become a ritual between the two of them. "Oh - and best of luck at the party."

Though her words had been playful, she cast one last lingering gaze filled with ache and longing at Sian then flashed the mage a heartbreaking smile as she retreated.

Dorian really hadn't been certain why the Herald found the Seeker so damn attractive, but now he had an inkling. When she smiled like that she was positively disarming and rather breathtaking. He was also shrewd enough to gather that the Seeker had spent a rough night. Even when she'd smiled, her eyes looked like someone had stolen her favorite trashy novel. He wondered what could possibly have happened. He'd watched the interplay between the warriors. The two of them were absolutely smitten with each other, but something was wrong.

"Ma'arlath…" Sian murmured as she awakened. "Cassandra...?"

"Be still my heart." Dorian rolled his eyes and whispered to her. "Apologies, my dear Herald. You're in the presence of greatness of another sort I'm afraid."

"Dorian. You're a sight for sore eyes." The Herald murmured sleepily. "I was sure Cassandra was here."

"Seeker Pentaghast's august presence was required for a strategy session. But – she spent the better part of the night watching over you." Mustache twitching, he teased. "I must say, you make an enchanting couple. You both even drool in your sleep."

"Funny." Sian tried to chuckle but coughed mercilessly instead. "Please – try not to make me laugh just now."

"Sorry. Old habits die hard." Dorian reached for a waterskin, and holding it gently to her lips urged her to drink.

"Thanks." Sian settled back again. "That's better."

"Good." Dorian put the skin aside and settled back on his seat. "For the record, I'm very glad to see that you survived. What happened after we made good our escape?"

"Hmm. Let's see…" With a weak smile, she summarized, her voice raspy. "I had a stand-off with the Elder One - his name is Corypheus by the way. And, his dragon - which looks a very much like an archdemon. I destroyed Haven and then, while I was running for my life it seemed like a great idea to fall in a mine and get lost in the woods. Oh – and did I tell you? Somewhere in the midst of all of that, I began using magic. So not really anything, right?"

"No. Apparently not much of anything." Dorian chuckled. "I did get a look at the fiend – appalling taste in clothing. Tattered Magister's robes are just so last millennia."

"Yes. And he desperately needed to chew some mint as well. The dragon probably had sweeter breath." Apparently heartened by the Tevinter's demeanor, the Herald told him about her meeting with the Elder One, frowning as she finished, her face puzzled. "When he spoke to me he called me by a name I've never heard before, and just before I escaped him he told me that I'm an 'unknowing rival' to him."

The mage leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with interest. "What was it he named you? Can you remember?"

"Primus – Chosen of the Maker." The words rolled easily from Sian's tongue.

At the name, Dorian felt a shock. He knew of it, but it seemed impossible. His words were rushed and emphatic as he spoke. "Are you certain? Primus?! He called you Primus?!"

"Yes." Sian tried to sit up, alarm on her face and gave up with a hiss of pain. "But I don't know what it means? Do you?"

Immediately, the mage rose and began pacing at Sian's bedside. "I do. I do know what it means. It – It just seems. Unbelievable!"

"Stop pacing, Dorian." The Herald blew out a staggered breath. "You're making me dizzy. Please. Sit down, calm yourself and tell me what this is about."

The Tevinter resumed his seat, elbows on his knees and blew out a deep breath. "Alright. This may take a while. Hmmm – where to begin." Pushing his forelock back he started. "Fundamentally, the word 'primus' in Tevinter simply means 'first'. But – add a capital 'P' and the moniker, 'Chosen of the Maker', and you've arrived at something much more – something out of legend. The ancient stories have, alas, been lost. But it does go some way into explaining your nascent ability to detect and use power. Have you noticed anything else different about yourself? I mean – in addition to your fantastically stylish Mark?"

"Other than my spontaneous ability to use magic, survive the fade and the fact that I carry an ancient elvhen artifact as a sword?" Sian's eyes rolled and her tone was dry. "Not really. No."

"When you put it that way," Dorian chuckled, struggling to keep his feet still. "It does shed a bit of light on your situation." His eyes grew serious and hooded as he continued. "According to the texts I examined as I worked with Alexius, a Primus was not made, the skills were not learnable. To be a Primus – one must be born a Primus. Apparently, it was a magically induced state of being, predicated on having been exposed to the fade and the spirits within it even before birth. It is believed that the Primus is touched by a spirit sent by a god for whatever reason a god might possess to do so. Further, it is conjectured that a Primus is specially gifted – able to walk the fade physically, to don spirit protection and to use magic based on will, not through the diligence of training, but based on need. In other words, it would explain why you could 'Embrace the Light' at the trebuchet. You did it because you had seen it used before and you needed it – willed it - to save Cassandra. Do you understand?"

Sian's eyes were wide. "It would explain why some of this is happening." For a moment, she seemed pensive, then spoke, skeptical of the possibility. "But it can't be. My mother didn't walk the fade. How could I have been touched? It doesn't add up, Dorian."

"Are you certain? Stranger things have happened." His eyes grew strained. "What do you know of your lineage?"

"My mother died not long after I was born. I never knew her." The Herald closed her eyes, then blinked. "But – my sister, Belwyn, is a mage. Maybe there's a connection?"

"Hmmm. Perhaps. But – not necessarily. You are _not_ a mage. If you're a Primus you cannot be possessed – you're already spirit-infused. Not inhabited, mind. But touched in a particular way that protects you yet allows you to use power based on the intent of the spirit you were touched by. The abilities are quite different." Dorian snorted. "Truth be told – I'm a bit envious. All of that incredible magic at your disposal and none of the inconvenience or study. You are a special snowflake indeed!"

"But I didn't ask for this!" Sian burst out. "I've never wanted power! I was content to be a guardsman, a knight. I wanted a simple life."

"Well," Dorian admonished her, "apparently the Maker has other plans for you. Plans that include closing rifts, dealing with monsters, making the world a bit safer - and meeting a certain Seeker and oh, a spectacularly handsome Tevinter mage, hmmm?"

"You may very well be right, but Corypheus could be lying." Sian leaned back to her pillow and seemed to relax. Narrowing her eyes, she teased. "And now you believe in the Maker?"

His voice was grave, his eyes solemn as he spoke. "I've always believed in the Maker. It's just my studied opinion that many of the writings attributed to Him are empty conjecture. The movements of the Maker, his will, his agenda are unknown – only revealed in crisis and extreme need. The real story is at once more complex and simpler than many would like to think. There is much unknown beyond mortal ken when it comes to the world beyond the Veil. Oh - and it usually involves war, darkspawn, demons and many other fabulous inconveniences. The very fact that someone, who claims to be one of the ancient magisters that assailed the Golden City, would call you 'Chosen of the Maker' certainly gives me pause. It infers that you actually are the Herald of – well... the Maker, anyway."

"I can't imagine how I'm still living if not through the Maker's intervention and I happen to agree with your theological stance." The cot creaked as Sian shifted, her eyes drooping as she yawned. "I just – I'm not sure how this is possible. I really need to have a talk with my father, don't I?"

'Trust me when I tell you that sometimes – fathers are not forthcoming." Dorian's gaze grew distant and his voice was bitter as he answered. "As soon as I have the leisure I shall be looking into this business - and Corypheus."

His last words fell on deaf ears. As he looked to the Herald she had fallen fast asleep.

XXXXX

Days passed and with each one Sian healed and began to regain her strength. Her companions made short visits, but in order to keep the people fed and the camp secured they were all pressed into service and had little time. The leaders of the Inquisition, however, were markedly absent. But Sian knew well where they were and what occupied their time. They met daily for long hours under an awning in the middle of the encampment. In the beginning their meetings were subdued, but with the passage of time, she began to hear them argue, and with each day the arguments grew louder, more desperate and angrier in tone.

Finally, one night as Mother Giselle sat with her, she could hear their voices raging around the make-shift strategy table. The evening was warm and the Reverend Mother had rolled up a tent side to allow them a view of the center of the encampment.

The Herald sat up and rubbed her temples, glancing at the awning. "They've been at it for hours."

Giselle looked up from her psalter, a placid smile on her lips. "They have that luxury thanks to you. The enemy could not follow and with time to doubt we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus."

Swinging her legs to the side of the bed, Sian sat up. Surprisingly, she actually felt almost whole, not completely well – but infinitely better, stronger than she had since Haven. "Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?"

Placing her book in her lap, Giselle looked to her. "We are not sure where we are. Which may be why – despite the numbers he still commands, there is no sign of him. That or you are believed dead. Without Haven, we are thought helpless or he girds for another attack. I cannot claim to know the mind of that creature, only his effect on us."

Voices continued to raise to a higher pitch. "I can't take this, Mother Giselle. I hate to see them like this – angry, fighting. A decision needs to be made. I should be there – I should be trying to…"

The priest laid her hand on Sian's knee and tried to comfort her. "Another heated voice won't help. Even yours. Perhaps especially yours. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witness. We saw our defender stand and fall. And now we have seen her return. The more the enemy is beyond us the more miraculous your actions appear and the more our trials seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What we have been called to endure. What we perhaps must come to believe."

Running a hand through her hair, Sian sighed deeply. "I escaped – barely perhaps. But I didn't die."

"Of course, and the dead cannot return from across the veil. But the people know what they saw or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?" The cleric tilted her face, her question stirring Sian's thoughts.

"I believe they are." Sian stood slowly and rested her face against a pole just outside of the tent opening. "I admit that my theology is unorthodox, but I have no doubt the Maker is involved. To what extent I can't say. But regardless, I also believe that Corypheus is a real, physical threat that can't be matched by hope alone. And that fiend doesn't care – doesn't give a single thought to what any of us believe. I saw what he'd do, what he wants. I saw the cost to each of us if he wins."

Strained silence reigned under and around the awning. Sian glanced at four of the strongest, most determined people she'd ever known. They'd worked so hard, put so much of themselves into the Inquisition and sacrificed so much. Josephine and Leliana sat near the campfire, its flickering warmth reflected in their dejected faces. Cullen stood in the shadows, his body tense as if his skin no longer fit. And Cassandra. The Seeker stood at the strategy table, head hung to her chest, her bronze eyes vacant, her body reflecting the devastation she clearly felt within. Watching it was unbearable, witnessing it was unthinkable. The sight of it drove Sian to tears.

It might have been the end. But in the end – sometimes new beginnings arise. As Sian heard Mother Giselle raise her contralto voice, singing the words of an old hymn, a transformation began. She felt it in her own heart, she saw it in Leliana's face as she joined the song, her lovely voice lifted for the first time in a long time, piercing the darkness. No one within earshot could resist the haunting melody, they were all called by it. And as they were, the people of Haven – every one, the refugees, the soldiers, the craftsmen, young and old were called too.

As the melody permeated the camp, like pilgrims the folk journeyed to the center. As they spied Sian, they gathered round her and began dropping to their knees, many singing, all with adoring eyes. Herald of Andraste or no, she felt their gratitude, their trust, and she was deeply humbled by it.

When the last note passed to the night sky, quietly the people rose and filtered back to their business. With their departure, Sian glanced up and met Cassandra's eyes. They were alight with her fierce faith, with reborn hope, but they were brimming with tears, awash with an endless yearning and a strange recognition. Blinded by the wells in her eyes, Sian blinked and momentarily cast her gaze to the ground. When she looked up again, she sought the lost contact – but the Seeker was gone.

Mother Giselle gently patted Sian's arm and spoke as she turned back to the tent. "An army needs more than an enemy – it needs a cause. In the end - Corypheus will care."

Sian thought to find Cassandra. She knew the Seeker was deeply troubled and it worried her. But as she began to search, Solas approached.

"A word. It is urgent." He said leading her away from camp to a still clearing inhabited only by snow-crested pines.

Upon arrival, he blithely lit a veil-fire torch and stood with his hands clasped at his back. "A wise woman. Worth heeding. Her kind understand the moments that unify a cause or fracture it. The orb you described the other day, the one Corypheus carried – the power he used against you is the same power he used to unlock the Breach. It is the artifact we spoke of in the beginning and it was the cause of the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how Corypheus survived. I am not sure how the others will react when they learn of the orb's origin. "

Sian stepped to his side, her boots breaking the fragile crust of snow beneath her feet. "You mean the fact that it is elvhen?"

"Exactly so." Solas's eyes seemed deep with the wisdom he carried. "It is a foci – used to channel ancient magics, power from the ancient elven gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are faint references in ruins and faint visions of memory in the fade, echoes of a dead empire. Old memories of older magic. Corypheus may think it Tevinter. His empire's magic was built on the bones of the ehlven. However he came to it, he threatens the heart of human faith. Knowing or not he risks our alliance, I cannot allow it."

As the Herald absorbed the words, she began to make connections. The elvhen and the Tevinter – stolen magic? The talk of old gods and power nagged in her brain. "Solas, are you familiar with the title – Primus?"

"Primus?" The elf hissed as he drew a stunned breath. "Where did you hear that term?"

"Corypheus. He called me by that name." Sian shivered at the recollection. "I spoke with Dorian. He seemed to know quite a bit about it." Folding her arms, her brows knit tight, she continued. "It occurred to me that you'd know more of it. And now that I've heard you talk about the artifact and the connection between the elvhen and the Tevinter Empire – I'm sure of it." Her tone gentle, she implored him. "If you know – please tell me."

"Very well." Forcefully, Solas exhaled the breath he'd drawn. He looked to the clear, star-filled sky, and then searched Sian's face. "I knew when first I saw you that you were different. Set apart. It's evident in the way you move, the way you use your mind and talents. The difficulty in pin-pointing why is because you appear human."

Startled, Sian trembled and seethed defensively. "I am human!"

"You appear human." Solas corrected her, his tone soothing, his eyes determined. "But you are more. I believe Corypheus is correct. You are a Primus."

"What is it?! How is it possible?" She fumed, feeling currents of electricity trace her spine.

"No doubt, Dorian told you that a Primus is born. One cannot aspire to become one. The talents and gifts of a Primus are innate, as natural as breathing and develop in that way – their use of power is based on observation and will, not study. In this way the abilities are limited only by exposure. The Primus is fade-touched, spirit-touched - free to walk beyond the Veil both physically and in a dream state."

As Sian looked up, she realized that the two of them were standing in front of the Chantry in Haven, just as it had been before the attack. She looked around her, expecting to see Cullen, or Leliana or Cassandra walking to and from their duties. But the paths were empty, filled with only a desolate wind.

Eyes wide, she looked to Solas at her side. "This isn't real. We – we're in the fade."

Smiling benignly, he started to walk and beckoned her to follow. "Someone beyond the Veil knew you'd need these abilities. Someone who shares your blood. Someone of not simply elvhen blood – but of the ancient elvhen blood."

She stopped and began to laugh. "Elvhen! That's impossible. No one in my family history is ehlven. Let alone connected with Arlathan."

"There is no contestation of this." His voice was emphatic, his eyes penetrating. "You are. You may not know how it is so – but it _**is**_ the truth. It explains why you survived the Conclave and why it is you who must bear the Mark." Back straight, he shared his knowledge. "There have been no Primus for many ages. The term is the convenient Tevinter name for the ancient elvhen expression – Sa'Bellanaris Dirth'Ena Enansilin. It roughly translates in common to – The One Eternal Knowledge That Leads to Victory. But at its core it is about identity. Its true correlate would be The One Eternal Arcane Knight. Your abilities are likely what allowed you to escape Redcliffe's dungeon as well. Alexius used time magic. Though Dorian used the amulet and knew the proper incantation, you could not have returned had you not possessed the power to maintain and enter the rift and thus reverse time. You are The One who is meant for this."

Sian snorted with disbelief and hardened her jaw in denial. "What?! Now I'm some kind of god? I don't think so!"

"No. You are not a god. You have the potential for the use of great powers based on need, your will, and your ability to draw upon the will of others around you. But, you are mortal." His face washed with compassion, he continued. "You can die. You can be killed. But you are equipped to engage the peril we face. And – your power, your life, may be the cost of victory."

The weight of the truth jolted Sian and she struggled to keep her emotions in check. Confusion, hurt, and anger, mixed with the extraordinary responsibility of her identity made her feel as if she'd melt beneath it all. It left her speechless and overwhelmed.

"By attacking the Inquisition, by attacking you, Corypheus has changed it - changed you. But the people's trust cannot grow in the wilderness, you will need every advantage. The Inquisition must survive. Scout to the north, be their guide, There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build, can grow. It is the place of which, I believe, you are a rightful heir. Skyhold."

Awakening with a jolt to discover herself on her cot, the Herald bolted from her bedroll the next morning and hurried to the command tent still pulling her boots on. She was unnerved by the conversation with Solas, but his description of sanctuary for the Inquisition fueled her with hope. Broadly smiling, she announced. "I know where we must go. Get everyone ready to move."

XXXXX

As it happened, Skyhold wasn't more than two days trip, even with a mass of people and wagons burgeoning with the goods salvaged from Haven. Their first sight of the fortress was from a peak overlooking it that afforded a bird's eye view. Enormous in proportion, its silvery walls reflected golden light from the midday sun and appeared nearly intact, majestic from the distance. However, as the Inquisition crossed the drawbridge to the main bastion and entered the courtyard, it was apparent that it had been deserted for some time and would require some serious effort to rehabilitate. Interior walls and some of the roofing had rotted away, but the external walls were stable, its layout was defensible, the land around it fertile, and most importantly, it had the capacity to house the people in times of crisis. Work began immediately and within days of arriving, it began to look like a proper stronghold.

Sian saw little of Cassandra over those days, occasionally spying her as she drilled troops, or made rounds in the keep, and at some meals with others in attendance. When she did see her, the Seeker appeared preoccupied and distant, but kind – much in the way she'd been in the early days of Haven. It troubled her deeply, but there never seemed to be a chance for the two of them to talk with any privacy. So, Sian worked, often with Master Dennet - getting the stables back in condition, sometimes with the masons in the keep - carrying bricks and building walls to re-strengthen her shoulder, and almost nightly in the courtyard, running through solitary practice forms with Sulevin – alone with her thoughts of the Seeker and their destiny.


	14. Chapter 13 - The Inquisitor

Chapter 13 – The Inquisitor

As the days passed Skyhold grew both in numbers and in structure. One afternoon, after spending the day building scaffolding with Gatsi, the droll dwarven mason, Sian descended the keep staircase in search of a wash bucket. Linen shirt generously unlaced, drenched in sweat, but satisfied with a good day's work she grinned broadly as she spied Cullen, Leliana, Josephine and Cassandra standing at the base of the hold stairs.

Hopeful that she could pry the Seeker away from her duties, she thought they might finally talk. These past days, she'd thought often of Cassandra, of how she might approach her. She missed her presence, her dry wit and the little moments of very present, but unspoken affection. As she'd reflected on their days in the Hinterlands, the visit to Val Royeaux, the embassy to Redcliffe and the events of Haven, she was certain of her own feelings – and equally certain that they weren't one-sided.

Cassandra beckoned her and stood waiting patiently while the others peeled away, each painted with thoughtful expressions and hopeful eyes. Upon approach, she realized that her wish would once again have to wait. The Seeker's stance and countenance were clearly indicative of Inquisition business. She was focused on an objective.

Cassandra's eyes were grave and her voice somber as she began to speak. "The people arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage."

Sian could see the growing numbers of folk bustling in the fortress around them. Refugees, recruits, and many merchants and craftsmen of various races and nationalities were visible in the courtyard and surrounding area, all occupied with rebuilding. Beyond the open drawbridge, a veritable sea of tents was spreading in the valley below to accommodate new arrivals.

"If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated." Attentive to the needs of the disheveled Herald, The Seeker stopped near a make-shift kitchen. "But we now know what allowed you to stand against Corypheus - what drew him to you."

"He identified me as a rival." Spotting a nearby wash tub, Sian stepped to it, rinsing her face and hands in the cool water and smoothing her hair as she spoke, puzzled by the Seeker's demeanor. "He wanted the anchor, but he said I ruined it – so he wants me dead."

As Sian finished, Cassandra stepped back, purposefully pivoting to the stronghold stairs and climbed. Sian stepped with her, listening as the Seeker continued, her voice low, reverent. "The anchor has power, but it's not why you're still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature's rival because of what you did and we know it – all of us."

Leliana stood at the landing on the steps overlooking the courtyard, her head bowed, a serene smile on her lips, and a massive, ornate sword resting across her outstretched palms.

The Seeker stopped near the Spymaster, her face glowing, her eyes shining with flecks of gold. "The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has _already_ been leading it." Her voice soft but determined, Cassandra's smile made Sian's heart ache. "You."

The Seeker's face seemed to reflect pride in her, but her tone was tinged with something else. Regret, sorrow? Sian wasn't sure. As she looked below the platform, she could see a huge crowd gathering behind the familiar forms of Josephine and Cullen. It seemed the entire population had dropped their tasks to witness this event. As the folk filtered in and stood below the staircase, they were silent as they awaited Sian's answer - their faces filled with hope, expectation and belief.

"Cassandra," Sian began, "the Inquisition has a leader. It –"

"No. This task belongs to you." Though Cassandra's eyes were soft, her voice was iron wrapped in velvet. "I will always support you, but you are the one. The Maker chose you."

"You believe in me? That much?" The Herald ran her hand through her drying hair, incredulous.

"All of these people have their lives because of you." The Seeker pressed.

Sian knew she was Corypheus's enemy, but that didn't mean she was the right leader. Somehow this situation seemed backward. Cassandra had invoked the Inquisition, shouldn't she be the one leading it? "That wasn't the question." She pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

Gaze locked with the Herald, the Seeker answered levelly, sincerely. "There is no faith without doubt – but I believe this is the only path before us. I have come to believe this was meant to be. There would be no Inquisition without you. How you serve, how you must lead? That must be yours to decide." Gesturing to the crowd, she continued, her tone emphatic. "Wherever you lead – I will follow. They will follow."

Sian stared at the greatsword in Leliana's hands. The Sword of the Inquisitor lay in her palms waiting – its crossguard wrapped with a coiled bronze dragon, the fuller in its silverite blade rippling in the sun. Drawing a deep breath, she grasped it reverently and gracefully hefted it upright. "I have tried to serve faithfully and I will continue to do so. These people deserve the chance to live their lives in peace. Thedas cries out for order. With the Maker's help – with your help, I vow to give them that chance."

"Wherever you lead us…" Cassandra repeated as she stepped to the edge of the platform and called to Cullen and Josephine. "Have our people been told?!"

"They have and soon the world!" Josephine answered with an infectious smile, her shout exultant.

"Commander, will they follow?!" The Seeker leaned on one leg and shouted over the side of the landing.

Cullen drew his sword and lifted it in the air, bellowing as if he were on a windy quarterdeck. "Inquisition! Will you follow?!"

As one the gathered folk exclaimed. "YES!"

"Will you fight?!" Brandishing his weapon the Commander called to them urgently and they cheered louder in response. "Will we triumph?!"

The people left no doubt as to their affirmation as they roared even louder, the sound billowing from the stone walls as every soul in Skyhold shouted confirmation.

Sian was humbled by their belief and staggered by their overwhelming approval and trust. She looked to the Seeker. Cassandra's face reflected the gravity of the moment, her eyes were tender and the gentle curve of her lips graceful as she nodded in approval.

Cullen thrust his sword toward Sian, his handsome features beaming as he formally introduced the noble to her people. "Your Leader! Your Herald! Your Inquisitor!"

Skyhold rang with the cheers of the throng. In answer, Sian raised the Inquisitor's sword to the sun as the Seeker and Leliana looked on with serene smiles. Even Josephine lost herself in the moment, cheering with the onlookers. But as Sian turned again to seek Cassandra's face – she was gone.

XXXXX

It was the Herald's moment to shine and the Seeker slipped away as the Inquisitor greeted her people. It had never been Cassandra's ambition to be the Inquisitor. Initially, she and Leliana scoured Thedas, first in search of the Hero of Ferelden – who firmly declared that she had a different, but equally critical mission that demanded her attention; and then, in search of Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall – who, according to Varric, had disappeared without a trace.

But today, she'd cast her full support behind The Herald. She had known - almost from the first time she'd laid eyes on Sian that she was rare of character and uniquely gifted. It by turns thrilled her, frightened her and attracted her. Despite all attempts to banish her deep feelings for the woman, they seemed to be growing. Since arriving at the stronghold, she'd done everything in her power to avoid the Herald for fear of betraying the vow she'd made while watching the wounded noble sleep. But she'd hungered for Sian's presence and she'd sated herself with furtive glances that only intrigued her more and made her heart nearly burst with joy with just a glimpse.

Cassandra leaned on her hands against the war table feeling depleted. She was exhausted - her body from the last weeks of re-establishing Skyhold as a base for the Inquisition, her mind from constant problem-solving, and her heart from struggling to keep her attraction to Sian Trevelyan at bay.

Standing there, part of her hoped that Sian would stay away, that she would fail to pursue the feelings Cassandra saw in her eyes and in her smile – that she would look to someone else with whom to involve herself. But there was another part deep within that missed her desperately, that couldn't stand the thought of Sian being that close to anyone else. It shamed her. Perhaps it would be best to make a clean cut – to let go, but it grieved her to even think of doing it.

For a time she stared at the map of Thedas spread before her and idly wondered if such problems had been present in the first Inquisition. What would this world look like when Sian Trevelyan was finished with it? How will this change me?

Looking up suddenly she realized that Sian was leaning at the doorpost, watching her with patient, gentle eyes. Slowly the noble crossed to the table and leaned on it next to her. "Are you planning troop movements now?"

"No. I'm trying to imagine what this will look like when we're done." Cassandra answered, determined to keep the conversation focused on safe topics. "All of this once belonged to the Tevinter Imperium. Andraste changed that, as did the Blights. As to what will come next. I cannot guess the Maker's plan."

Casting her hand over the map, Sian chuckled. "We make the world a better place."

"Because everyone agrees on what better means." She quipped, her eyes drawn to Sian's. The sincerity in those ocean eyes was infectious. "I know I want a world where people trust the Chantry and that trust is respected. I want to respect tradition but not fear change. I want to right past wrongs but not avenge them." She couldn't seem to resist sharing her thoughts and hopes with the Herald. It still amazed her that the noble cared to hear them. "And I have no idea if my wanting these things makes any of them right. Some would call that heresy."

"That didn't sound like the ravings of a heretic, Cassandra." Sian's voice was mild and earnest, but as she spoke of herself she seemed less self-assured than usual. "Of course, my own situation will no doubt raise questions – and eyebrows, I'm certain. Do you truly believe I'm the right person for this job?"

"I absolutely do." The Seeker immediately responded to quell Sian's anxiety. "I may not always agree with your decisions, but how many could do what you have done?" Feeling the tingle that proximity with the Herald seemed to draw from her, Cassandra moved to the windowsill and propped herself against the frame as she spoke. "You were a prisoner - accused and reviled. Yet you've emerged from every trial victorious. You give of yourself, your gifts and talents without hesitation. The Maker's grace does not make you immortal – you live or die by your own hand. That is worthy of admiration. You have proven to be a strong leader. I often wonder how you manage it."

The Herald brightened, "I make my own choices - I follow my heart." Sian's gaze was filled with affection as she trailed Cassandra to the sill and leaned into the opposite frame, facing her. "You've never led me astray."

"Oh excellent. The blind leading the blind." She softly laughed, trying to still her nerves.

"You're not blind, Cassandra. Your faith, your determination, your good heart. You trusted me before anyone else. You inspire me, lend me strength. I've only succeeded because you're with me. Do you have any idea how much I've missed you these past weeks?" Sian carefully reached for her and delicately gripped her forearms - her voice, her body calling the Seeker inexorably. For a moment, Cassandra was carried back to the thrilling sensation she felt when they lay locked together at the end of their duel, and felt her belly heat as Sian finished. "The world is not as bright when you're away from me."

Without realizing it, she had been drawn into the Herald's personal space close enough to feel her breath against her face. Like steel to a magnet, her head tipped of its own accord and she licked her lips in anticipation of being kissed. In that moment, there was nothing she wanted more. But, as Sian tilted her head and dropped to oblige her desires, reality intruded on the idyll and swiftly she placed her fingertips firmly, but gently against Sian's mouth.

"I cannot allow this." She drew a deep breath as the memory of Sian collapsing at her feet nearly lifeless rushed through her brain. "The world hinges on our actions. We face death at every turn, Inquisitor. You are The Herald of Andraste. I am your protector."

"Yes. I am. By some miracle of the Maker and by your hand, Cassandra." Her eyes hooded, Sian drew her head back and instead tenderly caressed the Seeker's jawline, her thumb sweeping over her cheekbone to the shell of her ear.

Desperately, she wanted to give in – to let this extraordinary, loving person turn her life upside down. Her words were resistant, but she closed her eyes and felt herself press into the Herald's hand even as she reasserted her logic for retreating. "All the more reason for me to be what people expect. To do my duty. I am a warrior. I am blunt and difficult and self-righteous."

"You _are_ an unparalleled warrior – brave, loyal and honorable. A true Seeker – faithful and duty-bound." Sian's palm resting at the base of her neck kindled more fire. "But you're so much more than your skills – I see your heart. You're more than a tabard and a sword. You're a strong-willed, passionate, tender-hearted woman. You care about others – you care about making the world safe, making life better for other people." The Herald's words were filled with conviction and adoration. "You're beautiful, Cassandra. I care deeply for you, all of you – just as you are."

Ears burning, heart on fire, the Seeker bowed her head. She felt the tears invading her eyes as she stared at the unlaced opening of Sian's shirt and noticed the little "v" shaped scar nestled to the left of her sternum. The location was no accident, the knife move Cassandra had executed was one designed to disable an opponent's heart. Ironic that her next words might effectively accomplish what her knife hadn't. She forced herself to take a step back, away from Sian as she spoke, her tone clipped, decisive. "Inquisitor, you are a warrior, but you are also a woman and my leader. I cannot think of you in that way. I am honored to be your friend – but that must be all. There can be no more between us."

It broke her heart to watch, but Cassandra truly believed she was doing the right thing. As the words sank in, the Herald's face paled, her eyes dimmed and her voice was wooden. "I'm sorry – I was sure... I thought you felt… I seem to have misread your feelings for me. My apologies."

The Herald swiftly turned and began to retreat, but at the doorway she halted, her eyes on the door, her hand on the pull. "When we sat at the campfire after Redcliffe, after I'd seen the dark future - you asked if there was nothing worthwhile, if there had been anything that sustained me."

"I did." Cassandra remembered, she could still feel the warm trace of Sian's touch on her face and at her neck, and her body still sparked as it recalled the feel of their thighs resting against one another that night. "You chose to keep it close."

"It was you, Cassandra." Sian hung her head and sighed deeply. "You. My Light. Ma vhenan."

Like an obsidian blade effortlessly passing through the thickest leather, Sian's words penetrated her façade. As she left, the quiet click of the door struck a counter blow to the Seeker's heart. Cassandra dropped her head to her arms, the pain of it claiming her - and wept.

XXXXX

Sian left the war room, hurrying to the highest intact battlement. Her heart felt like it had been ripped from her chest and she felt an almost uncontrollable urge to howl. Though she refrained from the outburst, she couldn't stop the tears. With no one close at hand to witness them, she let them fall and let great heaves pass from her chest until she was winded. She felt foolish and bereft and angry. How could she have thought someone like the Seeker felt more than concern for her as a friend? How had she allowed herself to even harbor hope of there being more between them? Had she imagined that Cassandra was attracted to her? Had deeper feelings for her? _I'm a fool._

As the tears drained, she felt the tremendous hole they left. Suddenly, she felt empty. For a time, she walked the fortified walls until she came to a back stair leading to the courtyard. Mindlessly she paced its length and entered the newly re-built tavern that had been dubbed "The Herald's Rest".

"Whisky." She called to Cabot, the bartender, as she took a seat at the long, empty bar.

Wisely and wordlessly, Cabot complied, setting a neat glass filled with liquid gold and a small flask of spring water in front of her.

As she tipped a bit of water into the amber fire, she noticed a small parchment and a quill on the bar top. "May I use these?" She asked the surly barkeep.

"Knock yourself out. Not mine." He grunted.

After a sip from the glass, she began to write and was soon lost to the catharsis of creating an emotional painting on the blank page. It didn't take long – the words were fresh. It wasn't good, but it would do – no one would be reading it but her. Satisfied, she blew on it to set the ink and after it dried, neatly folded it and tucked it into a pocket in her breeches.

"You look like shit, Boss." Iron Bull never failed to cut to the chase. "Did someone put a knot in Tucker's tail?"

"Something like that." She snorted, turning to face the big man. "What can I do for you?"

"Heh. It's not so much what you can do for me – as what I can do for you." Bull's good eye blinked knowingly. "You look like you could use a good fight. I know of one that is of personal interest to you."

In no mood for games, Sian shot him a withering look. "Do tell."

"Hmm. You really could use a workout." The Qunari grumbled. "Alright. There's an Avvar chieftain, calls himself "Hand of Korth". He seems to think it was a good idea to kidnap some of our soldiers. Right now – he's holding them for ransom in the Fallow Mire."

"Strange that he wouldn't just kill them outright. But, I'm glad he didn't." The news alarmed Sian. "What is he asking for in exchange?"

"You." Bull chuckled. "Apparently, he thinks he might garner some stature by engaging you in…" With a sly smile, he made air quotes. "Aggressive negotiations."

Anger rising to fill the emptiness inside, Sian took the challenge. "Fine. But someone should warn him that he picked a very bad day to irritate me." The Herald stood and quaffed the rest of her drink. "Get the Chargers, find Dorian and Sera, and meet me at the gate. I need to let my advisors in on this. As soon as I finish – we'll leave."

With purposeful strides she stalked to the great hall in search of her council. Her long legs soon brought her back to the war room where the others were gathered. As she entered and took her place at the table, she fought back a lump that threatened her throat. She still yearned to see Cassandra, the room seemed empty without her - but it was too soon.

Cullen was speaking as she settled in. "So this is where it begins?"

"It began in the courtyard." Leliana told him, smoothing her hood. "This is where we turn that promise into action."

"Good afternoon, Inquisitor." Lady Montilyet elegantly greeted her. "We were discussing our next course of action. Of course, those choices hinge on your instructions. We know nothing about this Corypheus, except that he wanted your Mark."

Sian shrugged. "Corypheus wants to restore Tevinter to its ancient glory." Though she wanted to get to Bull's news, she needed to be sure Skyhold would be secure and that her advisors were putting their prodigious abilities to work on the major challenge facing the Inquisition. "I didn't get the impression from him that the larger Imperium is involved in this, and Dorian has given me no indication of it either. What do you think, Commander?"

Tapping his lips with a finger, Cullen seemed to think for a moment. "No. I would agree with that assessment. I get the feeling that we're dealing with extremists – not the vanguard of a true invasion."

Josephine clasped her hands behind her back and agreed. "Tevinter is not the Imperium of a thousand years ago. What Corypheus yearns to restore – no longer exists. Though they would shed no tears if the south fell to chaos. I'm certain."

The Spymaster's brilliant eyes sparked as she sagely noted, "We do have one advantage. We know what Corypheus intends to do next. In that strange future you experienced, Empress Celene had been assassinated."

Lady Montilyet shivered. "Imagine the chaos her death would cause. With his army…"

"An army he'll bolster with a massive force of demons, or so the future tells us." Cullen looked away, his eyes troubled.

Sighing deeply, Leliana leaned into the map. "I'd feel better if we knew more about what we are dealing with."

"I know someone who can help with that." Varric announced as he entered the chamber. "Everyone acting all inspirational jogged my memory so I – I sent a message to an old friend. She's crossed paths with Corypheus before and may know more about what he's doing. She can help."

"Is she here?" Sian asked, her eyebrows drawn. "I'm always looking for new allies. Introduce me."

"Not yet. Should take a couple of weeks." The dwarf twitched uncomfortably and rubbed his neck. "Parading around might cause a fuss. It's better for you to meet privately on the battlements." Exhaling a long breath, he turned to leave. "Trust me – it's complicated."

Sian noticed as the ambassador and the spymaster shared a long look, both shaking their heads as he withdrew. Impatient to be off, she directed them. "Then let's move on these issues. Focus on finding out more about our enemy, and see what you can find out about any plans to assassinate Celene."

Leliana's brow furrowed. "It sounds as if you are planning to be absent. Is there more we should know?"

"Yes." The Herald crossed her arms and leaned into the table, her expression taciturn. "Iron Bull has informed me of a situation in the Fallow Mire. Some of our troops have been taken hostage by an Avvar chieftain who demands satisfaction from me for their return. I will be taking Bull and the Chargers, along with Dorian and Sera, and with your blessing, Sister Nightingale, a squad of scouts for support. It is my intention to grant him his wish and to bring our soldiers home."

"Are you certain you don't wish to take more troops?" Cullen appeared to be uncomfortable with the plan, but he was not in a position to gainsay her instructions.

"No." Sian assured him. "It's marsh and bog. We don't need any more casualties, and at the moment I feel up to a duel. We'll move quickly with a smaller group. We can get in – get to work and return within the week." Crisply she asked. "Is there anything else?"

"Not at the moment, your worship." Josephine smiled pleasantly. "You leave Skyhold in the best of care. Now, if you will excuse me – I have much to do."

"As do I." Cullen added from nearby as he joined her in departure. "I will take my leave as well. Be careful with the Avvars, Inquisitor. They're tough and skilled. Maker go with you."

Leliana moved beside Sian and leaned next to her. "I know one thing. If Varric has contacted who I think he has – Cassandra's going to kill him."

Her name struck Sian like a lightning bolt and she struggled to stay composed. Gently she snorted. "She might at that."

Nightingale's eyes held empathy as she dropped her hood and looked directly at the Herald. "You're not taking her along - are you?"

Sian knew Leliana missed nothing. She spoke softly. "No, my friend. I need some time."

"I see." The Spymaster didn't press. Giving Sian an affectionate embrace from the side, she smiled gently. "Then do what you must, but come back safely. Maker keep you safe."

The Herald flashed a sad grin and left, her boots echoing on the stone pavers. Leliana watched her back as she disappeared into the keep. She had an inkling of what might have happened between the Inquisitor and the Seeker. "Oh Cassandra, what _have_ you done?"

XXXXX

After rapidly donning her armor, Sian rushed to the main gate. Master Dennet stood with Tucker in hand, saddled and prepared for the mission. Bull and the others were gathered in full readiness, so she swung into the saddle, signaled their departure and turned her stallion for the bridge.

Cassandra had spent the afternoon in silence in the newly opened Chantry chapel in the garden, unaware of the mission. She'd just cleared the courtyard gate in time to see Sian and the others as they mounted and left. As the Inquisitor climbed on her leggy horse, something fell from her pocket and the Seeker quickly ran to pick it up, racing after them and calling to the Herald. But, Sian didn't hear her. As the company hit the drawbridge, they broke into a gallop that quickly took them away and out of sight.

It was a simple piece of paper. She started to unfold it, but thought better of it. She'd already hurt Sian and she felt it was wrong to pry. With a sigh, she carried it to her quarters over the forge and tucked it in a book. It was just a piece of parchment, likely benign in every way – but for some reason, she couldn't completely forget that it was there.

The next week was agony. She worried constantly for Sian. But, she knew she had to cope. So, she doubled her rounds, took on more trainees and spent every minute in between in the practice yard splitting dummies, all the while ignoring the parchment in her quarters and the burning sensation in her chest. But, the week after proved to be worse. The Herald returned victorious – but she politely avoided the Seeker and the curious little paper was still there and the pain in her heart had become her relentless companion.

 _[A/N – Thanks to all who continue to read along and who so generously review. I am very grateful to you. Special thanks to all who favorite and follow. It is very encouraging. Just to let you know – we're getting to the marrow of the issue with Sian and the Seeker, so I encourage you to stick it out. The next chapter is a big one!]_


	15. Chapter 14 - The Seeker's Bad Day

Chapter 14 – The Seeker's Bad Day

 **Fumbling and Tumbling**

It had been the Seeker's intent to escape – if only for a little while. The day was bright, unseasonably warm for the mountains in early spring, and the little cloistered grove just outside of the fortress beckoned. Book in hand, she slipped from Skyhold unnoticed and climbed to a small crag just below the headwaters of the waterfall. Nose filled with the fresh, clean scent of bruised herbs, ears filled with the melody of pure, sweet meltwater issuing from the crest above her head, Cassandra rested against the shaggy bark of an ancient pine. Privacy insured by a screen of flowering shrubs, she settled in to read.

Varric's bawdy romance novels always seemed to soothe her mind. His adventures of the Guard Captain fueled her imagination and offered a respite from her own more difficult emotions. Caressing the worn parchment, she turned to her favorite page, ready to savor the elixir of the dwarf's words. But – as she found the passage, she encountered the little folded paper the Herald dropped in the courtyard as she'd left for the Fallow Mire.

It was just a little paper, innocuous, with nothing to distinguish it from a task list or some other harmless reminder. Surely if it had been something important Sian would have inquired as to its whereabouts, but she had not. Cassandra thought to return it, but she had no way to tactfully accomplish that without involving Leliana or one of the Inquisition's companions. Preferring to avoid unnecessary notice, she'd kept it tucked away in the book - unread. Index finger gently running along the edge of the folded page, she'd wondered what was in it a hundred times but she'd resisted opening it. As she considered it now, she chastised herself.

Convinced that she was ridiculous to avoid it, with a grimace she carefully unfolded it and began to read. Immediately, she felt as if a light breeze could knock her over. The top of the page read simply, "For Cassandra" in the Inquisitor's unique, but elegant script. Then, she read the lines below it written by the same hand:

Like a hymn your presence wakes my soul

Your voice speaks in my dreams.

Through Fade and fire I'd seek you

Through the Veil I'd carry you home.

In dungeons and labyrinths your heart is near

In the dark your faith calls to me

Through Fade and fire you'd seek me

Through the Veil you'd carry me home.

Though the frost of time may taint our hair

Though a sword might cleave us twain

Through Fade and fire I'd seek you

Through the Veil I'd long for home.

My rest, my yearning, my heart's true Light

In your eyes I find my strength

Through Fade and fire I'd seek you

Past the Veil you'd still be home.

It was terrible – and magnificent. The sentiment made her cheeks burn and struck her heart with its simplicity. Swallowing hard, she cast her gaze to the frothing pool at the base of the waterfall and was horrified to discover that the author of the lyric was sharing the grove with her. Apparently, the Inquisitor had longed for escape as well and was now swimming in the clear waters a fair distance below, clad only in her skin, blissfully unaware of Cassandra's presence.

The Seeker willed herself to look away but found that she could not. Immediately discomfited, panic writhed through Cassandra's chest as she struggled for a covert escape. She was several yards away but if she stood up, she would be seen; and, even with the surrounding cover, a crouched crawl out would likely result in snapping twigs and the crackle of gravel that would give her away. Better then to simply blend in, mind her own business. Taking several controlled, deep breaths she slouched back down onto the rough bark of the trunk. Why should this be a problem? She was simply there to read. Except in fact – she could not.

Tucking the page in the back of the book, she tried to focus. Though she struggled against the distraction, Cassandra found that as she staunchly directed her eyes to a line of the tale they were drawn helplessly back to Trevelyan. The woman gracefully stroking through the ripples in the pool was such a temptation for her. Maker, she had not intended it to be this way. Torn between guilt for wanting to watch and the uncontrollable flush of arousal that constricted her throat and burned her earlobes – she gave into nagging curiosity and cast her gaze to the water.

The unsuspecting Herald stood up in the shallows and Cassandra covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. Accentuated by water sleeting over the woman's skin, there was not an ounce of fat present - just a lean physique cut from pure muscle. The noble's shoulders were broad and her arms corded from years of wielding her heavy bastard sword. Proud, small breasts perched on a well-defined chest and a torso of sculpted flesh flowed seamlessly into narrow hips, firm buttocks, and impossibly long legs. Cassandra was mesmerized as a battle-scarred hand pushed back the short, slick spikes of water-darkened hair clinging to the Herald's forehead. It felt like she was witnessing a sacred artwork materialize as the unsuspecting Chosen of the Maker lifted her face toward the balmy sky and into the sun.

However, sight alone was not the sole source of the Seeker's temptation. The Inquisitor's external luster only acted as the mortal coil for the mercy in her heart, her devotion and gallantry, and the capacity of her intellect and will. The combination of these aspects had a captivating effect on Cassandra. But, what truly devastated the Seeker was that Sian simply professed to love her as is – without hesitation or question.

Memories of The Herald's tender touch in the war room flared in her mind and she felt her flesh ripple. Her face flushing as she contemplated the view, the Seeker unconsciously licked her lips and carelessly drew her hand across her mouth. Her knees trembled as a wave of unrelenting heat rushed to her loins and a swell of desire flooded her breeches. Her pulse raced even as she tried valiantly to moderate her breathing and still the painful longing. Momentarily, she cast her gaze down, eyebrows drawn up, chastising herself for indulging in childish curiosity and frustrated by her own traitorous body's response to the sight. The very thought that she sat here, mouth drenched with want, hungering for the woman she had so firmly declared to be her friend, the leader she had sworn to protect, felt like a terrible betrayal.

Cassandra closed her eyes and prayed to the Maker for forgiveness for her lust and lack of restraint, inwardly begging for mercy and a return to her right mind. But, she found no solace. Sweet Andraste, but she'd tried to fight her feelings – to deny not only her love, but her desire. Even as she begged for pardon, she felt conflicted – unsure of herself on one hand, but desperate to know what those talented, scarred hands could do to her body – what allowing Sian to love her would do to her heart. With a shuddering sigh, she opened her eyes to discover that the object of her indiscretion was absent from view. Relieved of the burden of self-control, she made her way back to Skyhold.

Though she was thoroughly exhausted by the emotionally charged, spiritually driven struggle she'd encountered in the grove, that night sleep was elusive. When slumber finally claimed her, it felt like dusk. She had dreamed of the Herald many times before, but these dreams felt real. Memories of Sian's fingers tenderly tracing her neck, gently brushing her arm, turned into erotic, intimate caresses. The momentary burn she'd felt during their duel became molten sensations as the Herald's body drew her in, enveloping her in blessed heat and light. Cassandra heard soft, sincere words whispered from impossibly pliable lips and echoes of her own voice responding to the fire the sensations kindled. Tangled limbs, steamy breaths and the recollection of flight haunted her as she awoke, drenched in sweat and then suddenly chilled from the morning dew that shimmered on her skin.

Rising from her simple bedroll, Cassandra's stomach complained loudly as she relieved herself and deftly cleansed away yet more of her body's betrayal. She dressed while the shadows in her cold, lonely corner of the fortress receded and attempted a return to her normal state of sanity. But – the incident in the grove felt fresh. Compounded by the intimate, deeply sensual, very tactile dream, she couldn't get it out of her thoughts. Not only had she fallen in love – but she ached for Sian's presence, yearned for her body. For her own sanity, she needed to find some way to subdue this madness. For the Seeker, this meant some grueling physical outlet. Filled with turmoil, confused and conflicted with her body's responses, and deeply angry with herself, she picked up sword and shield and made her way to the training yards.

The Iron Bull stood in the practice yard, his granite abdomen flexed against Krem's vicious lashing. Cassandra watched intently as the Charger rained blow after blow on the Qunari's gut with a thick wooden stave.

Bull encouraged him with gusto. "Are you asleep, Krem? Again – harder!"

The Seeker joined them as she continued to observe the ritual with interest. "May I ask what it is you are doing?"

The giant responded with gritted teeth, "I - am getting in touch with my inner warrior. Krem is working out, um – other issues of frustration." The last blow connected solidly with Bull's gut as he was speaking, leaving him breathless. Sucking great volumes of air, he held up his hand beckoning for a break in action. The Tevinter broke off with a grin, satisfied that he had managed to land the required blows.

Mental gears at screaming velocity and desperate for release, Cassandra cocked her head toward Krem and flatly addressed Iron Bull. "I wish to try this… if you would allow it."

The Qunari threw back his head and howled with delight. "Yes! I knew you had it in you. By all means go for it – if you're sure you want to tough it out. "

Certain this might effectively cleanse her thoughts and emotions, Cassandra carefully placed her sword and shield against a nearby bench and tightened the straps on her breastplate. "I am," she assured him soberly, fiercely determined to see her feelings beaten into submission.

Turning to Krem, Bull winked and nodded toward the Seeker. Drawing back, the young mercenary delivered a controlled blow. The contact stung and drew at her breath, but Cassandra was actively pursuing punishment. Scowling, she braced herself and admonished him. "Harder!"

Krem drew back and delivered a torrent of blistering, fully charged hits, but the treatment was failing to purge the wicked little thoughts about the Inquisitor from the Seeker's mind. She felt her guts burn and her cheeks heat. Maker, it hurt. But she was determined to get the atonement she so desperately needed.

Teeth grinding, eyes watering, her belly lit with flame - without any thought for content or the consequences, she thickly commanded, "More! Are you a man or only pretending to be one? If you truly are - then hit me!"

For a moment the order stopped Krem dead in his tracks. The words pierced him and his eyes stormed with sudden rage as he drew back his arm to deliver a blow that would have thrilled Iron Bull and with certainty would have incapacitated the Seeker.

"Stop this now!" Leliana's alarmed voice penetrated the stunned trio while her lithe stride brought her protectively in front of Cassandra. Her blue eyes snapped as she swept her gaze to each of them. "What in Thedas are you doing?!"

Krem shook as he dropped his arm and threw the stave down, his face reddened with anger and hurt. In dreadful silence he turned on his heel and stalked indignantly toward the tavern. Cassandra bent, cradling her torso, winded, flushed, and unable to reply. Iron Bull simply shrugged, his concern focused on Krem, and padded after his officer.

The Spymaster's eyes narrowed dangerously as she absorbed the scene. Crossing her arms and canting her body onto her back foot she addressed her pain-racked comrade with a hiss. "Since when have you condoned flagellation as a form of penance, Cassandra?"

Still gasping for breath, pale and unsteady, her voice rasping in an effort not to retch, the Seeker coughed, "I – I don't. It's not. What makes you… think… ugh... to question my methods?!"

"I have watched for years as you made kindling with your sword - taking your anger out on inanimate objects. But never have I seen you deliberately take it in." Leliana effortlessly grasped one of the weakened Seeker's arms and looped it around her neck. Gently, she began guiding her friend toward her own quarters near the Chantry. "Come. It is time for you to sing for Sister Nightingale for a change. Besides – confession is good for the soul, yes?"

Too depleted and hurt to do anything but agree, the chastened Seeker allowed herself to be marshaled to Leliana's room.

 **Confession**

It took some time for Leliana to half-carry Cassandra to the spymaster's quarters. Upon arrival, the former Bard encouraged the Seeker to sit on the edge of the bed. Cassandra offered no resistance as her friend efficiently removed her tabard, unbuckled her breastplate and belt, and pulled her tunic over her head fully exposing her upper body. Scarlet and deep purple bruising wreathed the Seeker's flat abdomen and small bony lumps had begun to emerge on her ribcage. Urging Cassandra to lie back, Leliana winced as she bathed her friend's battered, floridly colored flesh with healing potion. The Seeker turned her face toward the wall as Leliana finished without comment, carefully binding her ribs and waiting for the warrior to speak as she pulled a soft blanket over her upper body.

Moments passed in silence. It became apparent to Leliana that this was not going to be easy. But lately, the Seeker had not been herself. Sighing, she took one of Cassandra's hands into her own and gathered her thoughts.

"Cassandra Pentaghast, I have seen the best and the worst of you. I've seen you injured, elated, and raging. I have watched you rail against injustice and know you to be rash and blunt – but never so completely, unreasonably unkind. Never so thoughtless." Leliana's voice dropped to a compellingly low pitch, "Now tell me, what is going on? Don't try to deny it either. You know I will see straight through you, yes?"

Cassandra fixed her pained gaze into the Spymaster's eyes and impatiently threw her arm over her forehead. Flatly she declared, "Odd."

Her touch light, the former bard soothed the Seeker's troubled face with a potion dampened cloth. "What do you mean - odd?"

Sighing deeply, Cassandra placed her hand over the one holding the comforting cloth on her face. "I mean – this. Is odd. You. Me. This. How many times have we seen each other disrobed? We have shared rooms, bathed in the same streams on various missions for the Most Holy, and treated one another's wounds in many states of undress without comment or concern. I now find that – odd. Especially since… since -" Her words trailed into the stillness of the room.

"Since what?" Leisurely resting her hand across the Seeker's body, Leliana spun shackles of silk as she effectively trapped her penitent. "Tell me."

With the knowledge that Leliana wasn't going to let her escape, Cassandra blurted out, "Since - I have found myself attracted to… falling in…in…" Struggling to form the words, she mumbled. "…with Trevelyan. There. I said it."

"Ah." Leliana's eyes twinkled as she fought to repress a chuckle. Satisfied that she had disciplined her lips into a knowing smile she continued. "Your feelings have finally caught up with you?

"Yes," the Seeker rasped, her face heated, her eyes frosty. "But you know this."

"I do. I've known this for a very long while." With a wry grin Leliana teased. "So? How? No - _why_ did this happen now, Cassandra?"

Swallowing against the burning ache in her belly and her throbbing ribs, Cassandra struggled to prop herself upright. If she were going to confess, she felt the need to be at eye level with her Confessor. She took a deep breath and described, in great detail, finding the poem, the unrelenting dreams, and the struggle with her feelings in the grove as she watched the Herald swim. Finishing, she fell silent.

"You know, I am just a little bit jealous." Leliana commented playfully, a sensuous smile curving her lips. "The Inquisitor is very attractive. Of course, I already have a beloved to whom I pledged fidelity. But – were that not the case, I would be tempted to take an excursion with you just to have a peek myself." Her eyes narrowed and arms crossed, she leaned toward Cassandra and soberly pressed. "Tell me – why do you persist in this charade? There is almost no one in Skyhold who does not know – who does not realize that you love the Herald. That you care deeply for her. Why do you insist on torturing yourself?"

"This is nothing to be jealous of, Leliana. I have no idea of how to handle this. It goes against everything I have understood about myself, everything I was taught to be virtuous and true. It bears no alignment to the expectations I have for love or proper courtship. I cannot allow myself this… ugh, this indulgence. It is simply a fantasy that has gotten out of control." Huffing with frustration, the Seeker threw herself back to the pillows and winced as she stubbornly crossed her arms over her heart. "She now leads the Inquisition. It is my duty to protect her – to support her decisions with my blade, if need be. Not romp about like a randy fennec. I am sworn to keep her safe."

"I was certain it is Varric who specializes in nug-droppings, but it seems you share his talent. These are excuses, Cassandra - and you know this." Assuming a carefully calculated pose of nonchalance, Leliana snorted. "Well then. I suppose it would be a pitiful waste of breath to remind you that your restrictions have nothing to do with love and everything to do with this notion you have of living up to Nevarran morality. A code you were quite content to put aside yourself, yes? The Chantry does not teach this, the Seekers do not enforce this." Taking a deep breath, she continued, her Orlesian accent relentless. "You are afraid, my friend. You are in love. And you, who would stand before a high dragon with a butter knife - are afraid of it. You may wish it, but you cannot protect her from all danger. It is your duty to try but it is as impossible as capturing moonlight in a jar. There have already been many times when she has had to protect herself and she's proven to be capable and resourceful. Would you take that from her? Would it not make you feel less if your positions were reversed? Ask yourself how many times she has protected you these last months?"

For a moment, Cassandra sat silent, her brow knit, the spymaster's words permeating her thoughts. She slowly answered. "I suppose it did not occur to me – not in that way. I would never wish to make her accomplishments less. It is not my intent to diminish her in any way."

"Of course it isn't. You are of generous spirit and you truly care for her. I have seen the way she looks at you. I have watched the two of you enough to see how it is. If you care enough to protect her body – what about her heart?" Patiently, Leliana pressed.

"And what about mine?!" Cassandra snapped, her eyes filling rapidly as her voice grew choked and defensive. "Do I not have the right to protect my own heart?!"

"And now we have come to it, my friend." The former bard shifted, her hand on the Seeker's knee, her compassionate gaze locked with Cassandra's terrified eyes. "What is it that you truly fear?"

Swallowing hard, the warrior looked away, when she returned her tear glazed vision to the Spymaster, her face glistened and her voice was raspy and pain-wracked. "My parents, Anthony, Byron, Regalyan, Divine Justinia, the missing Seekers … all people I've loved. And all of them – lost. This has always been the case with those I love. I become helpless – unable to save them. You, of all people, know how this feels. I am weary unto death of grief. I do not wish to bear more. If something were to happen – if the Elder One prevailed… if I lost her… if she were taken…" Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs and she trembled as she made a futile attempt at wiping the drips rimming her jawbone.

"Cassandra…I do. I do know. I have been angry and afraid too. But it changes nothing." Leliana put her arms around her companion and held her, stroking her hair. "Loving them is not what cost them their lives. If we could speak with them I am sure they would tell you that being loved by you was a gift. And - your life would have been poorer without theirs. Look at you now – can you honestly tell me that it is not already too late to guard your heart? Just thinking of losing the Inquisitor had made a mess of you. It cannot possibly be better to deny your feelings - to sacrifice whatever joy you might have because you are afraid. It is far, far too late for that." Tenderly she took the Seeker's face in her hands and drew her thumbs under her bruised eyes wiping tears away. "In my own case, I know in my heart that the pain of separation would be worse if not for what love I have shared with those I've lost."

"I know you are correct." Cassandra sniffed, her eyes red-rimmed as she drew back. "I did not expect that someone like Trevelyan would come along and truly steal my heart. I feel things for her that I have never felt before. It is compelling, confusing and the depth of it takes my breath. And - there is still the fact that, despite my attraction, she is a woman. I know nothing of this. I have no experience with this. I would wish to fully know her, my body demands it - but I do not know how."

"It is not so different. Love is love no matter who you bear it for." The Spymaster smiled with a touch of amusement. "You are a mature woman. You know your own desires, you have already felt them. Your instincts will guide you. It is really a matter of trust. I have seen the way the Herald looks at you, speaks to you, of you – the affection in her eyes, the respect she bears for you – I could not imagine anyone more worthy of your trust."

"I do miss her. I yearn for the closeness." Cassandra's voice was wistful. She sighed deeply. "You are right." She felt the strain in her face as she observed. "I have made a terrible fool of myself. And - my words cut Lieutenant Acclassi deeper than my sword could ever do. I have wronged him terribly. I must find the proper way to atone."

"On that we agree." Rising, Leliana tidied the small bedside table and prepared to leave. "What of the Inquisitor?"

Remembering Sian's face in the war room, Cassandra murmured. "I do not know. Perhaps I have ruined everything – perhaps it is too late."

"Believe me when I tell you that it is never too late. You could start by admitting to her how you truly feel. The world is changing – you know this. It will almost certainly require you to change with it." Placing a chaste kiss to Cassandra's forehead, she called over her shoulder as she exited, "Bear in mind that I am always here for you. Stay and rest in a soft bed for once. Pleasant dreams."

Troubled by the conversation and deeply remorseful of the inexcusable way she spoke to Krem, Cassandra tried for a time to fall into the twilight of a nap. Though Leliana's bed was sinfully comfortable, the Seeker could not truly rest with the knowledge of how she had taken her own fears and confusion out on him. She saw the shock and shame in his eyes as he left the training rounds. Tightening her jaw, she made herself get up. She knew exactly what she needed to do. Cautiously she pulled her tunic and tabard over her head and buckled on her sword belt while mentally calling up her courage. She would need it after the short walk to the tavern.

 **Contrition**

Cassandra strode toward the tavern. The entire trip was spent berating herself for her lack of restraint and hot temper, punctuated with several obscure, but colorful examples of Nevarran swearing. She hoped she could get this right. She hoped Krem would allow her to see him.

The Seeker knew she had cut the young Charger to the quick with her hasty words but it had never been her intent to hurt him. Even though it was in the heat of the moment, she had crossed a line by attacking his identity. She didn't pretend to understand exactly what was going on with him. What she did understand was that for a warrior to be at their best – they had to know who they are and how they fit in the world. His expression of gender confused her body and soul. It smacked of the same issues she struggled with, the deep confusion that yearning for the Inquisitor caused for her. But she knew common decency and respect for the forces critical to the Inquisition were paramount elements of strong leadership. Battles were won and lost by virtue of not only unified purpose, but loyalty and personal integrity. She had wronged him and she knew she must do everything in her power to make it right.

Resolutely she opened the tavern door and marched with all the dignity she could muster to Iron Bull's unofficial court. She came to a stop directly in front of the Qunari and planted herself ramrod straight.

Bull peered up at her over the brim of his tankard. "Come to see Krem?"

"Yes." Though the mercenary chief seemed to be entirely neutral, the Seeker had a sudden urge to cast her gaze to the floor. Realizing that she expected judgment, she resisted the inclination to shift her feet or scratch the phantom itch between her shoulder blades. Instead, after an empty, uncomfortable minute she asked. "Will he see me?"

Shrugging, Bull's horns swayed as he cocked his head toward the corner under the bar stairs, motioning to where the Seeker could just see Krem's form slouched in a rustic tavern chair. "You'll have to ask him." He seemed to consider her for a moment, as if he were looking at someone he'd never seen before. "I admire your nerve, Seeker. Let me know how that works out for you."

As Bull's interest returned to the contents of his beverage, Cassandra forced herself to turn on her heel and make her way to Krem's corner. A dirge played in her head and her mouth felt dry as she made one of, what felt to her like, the longest walks of her life.

As she approached she realized that Krem was accompanied by several of the Chargers. Cassandra had no idea what, if anything, had been revealed about the circumstances in the training yard and how she might be received by the tight-knit band. In answer to the unspoken question, several eyes rolled in her direction and the expressions she observed on the faces present appeared to harbor simmering resentment toward her.

Mustering her courage, she bravely locked eyes with Krem. She half-expected him to be drunk, but he was sober and bore a sullen, tight countenance. The Seeker gently cleared her throat and bravely made her request. "May we speak? In private if you wish."

The band's healer, Stitches, spoke up quickly, "You cut one of us – we all bleed. If you have anything useful to say, you can say it where you stand."

Glancing at the group, she nodded her assent respectfully then turned back to Krem. "What I said earlier was wrong. I – was wrong. Since you have joined us, you have never failed to give your best. But I dishonored you and I am deeply, sincerely sorry for my words."

Reaching to the back of her belt she grasped what was intended to be a gift. As her fingers circled it the Chargers stood as one ready to put down a perceived threat. Krem simply held up his hand in a fist. Fortunately for Cassandra, he understood her actions and the Chargers obeyed his unspoken order.

Cautiously, gently, she finished her motion and retrieved the object at her belt, her eyes still locked with Krem's. Despite the soreness in her body, she dropped to one knee at his feet to initiate a simple, but age-old warrior's ritual familiar to the more conservative denizens from parts of northern Thedas.

Bowing her head, she held up her offering and recited in a clear voice. "Take this to be sign and symbol of my debt of honor. I have offered you insult and wish to atone. If it may be in your heart, grant me your forgiveness and your mercy."

As one, the Chargers gasped when they saw what she held, recognizing the value with practiced eyes.

Krem shot from the chair, stunned, and held out his hands to wave her off, his anger dissipating. "You needn't do this, Seeker Pentaghast."

"Yes. I must." Cassandra insisted as she lifted her hands higher and stared at him expectantly.

"But, this is an honor debt. I have no right to it."

"You do. You have every right to this. I have no other means of demonstrating to you the depth of my regret and my respect. So take it – I beg you." Cassandra spoke evenly in an attempt to keep her voice from breaking. The object in question was priceless to her - it had been Anthony's. Other than a small locket that had been lost, the clothes on her back and her usual weapons, it was the only thing of value that she had managed to bring when the Inquisition retreated from Haven.

Krem's eyes softened as he slowly drew the gift from her hands. Reverently, he pulled the dragonbone knife from its lustrous scaled sheath and held it in a filter of sunlight. Shining runes embedded in the blade danced wildly as he looked on in wonder. He considered the sheath. Age-darkened, it carried the crest of the House of Pentaghast worked in silver filigree lined with gold. Either item alone was worth more than anything the merc officer owned or had ever dreamed of owning in his life. But more important was the act itself. Moved by the ritual, he lay the priceless weapon on his empty seat and completed the nuanced ceremony. Gently grasping the Seeker's forearms, he urged her to stand.

Nervously, the young Charger invoked the solemn traditional response to the simple rite. "All will be well and all things will be well. I accept this gift in exchange for your debt and offer you my full pardon and forgiveness. Mercy be yours."

Blessed relief washed over the Seeker's face and she gathered herself to go. As she pivoted to the door, she looked back at him. "You do know what this means? Correct?"

Krem beamed at her, his affable nature returned in force. "I do."

Bull witnessed the entire exchange and now his eyes followed the Seeker as she left the tavern. When the door shut he ambled over to Krem and the now relaxed Chargers. Leaning to his Lieutenant he asked in hushed tones, "What was that about?"

"The Seeker invoked the Nevarran custom of Honor Debt." Krem answered, his voice still in awe of the Seeker's action.

"Interesting choice." Bull sagely noted as he picked up the dagger and considered it, turning the blade to see the runes. "Lethal. Sharp. Very rare. This is a thing of beauty."

"No doubt it is a valuable weapon," Dalish agreed as she looked on, "but why didn't she just give it to you and be done with it?"

Krem spoke with a tone of deep respect. "The real value _was_ the act. You see, in Nevarra that ritual is only ever invoked for a man." Swallowing the lump in his throat, the merc continued. "Seeker Pentaghast didn't just offer an apology or even give me a gift. She recognized me - as a man."

Krem received the blade back and stood, gazing at it in disbelief, a broad grin on his face as the Chargers drank to the Seeker and gathered around him for a closer look.

Bull gripped the awestruck officer's shoulder affectionately and snorted softly to himself as he returned to his table. "Shit, Seeker - I think you just got yourself a fan club."

 **Absolution**

Cassandra left the tavern feeling much lighter than she expected. She had done the right thing, made an honorable choice. Her ribs ached as a reminder of her own foolishness but the pain was nothing. It would subside, she would heal, and most importantly, she had eased the suffering she had caused.

Recalling the location of her sword and shield, she made a beeline toward the training grounds to retrieve them. It was uncharacteristic for her to leave her weapons behind. It seemed to be more evidence of exactly how far she had left her sensibilities behind that she would do so. Byron, her mentor and friend, would be so disappointed with her were he alive. She sighed deeply at the thought of him. After all these years, she still missed him.

At the moment she had nowhere she had to be, no appointments to keep, and really, no one to talk with. Reaching the training yard, she gathered her arms and rested on a nearby bench, twirling the point of her sword in the grass. Soon she was lost to thoughts of her recent actions and memories of the past.

Giving up the dagger had been hard for Cassandra. But, done is done. She felt her lips curl into a smile as she thought of the memories she carried with her. Anthony was still with her, part of her being, and would be until she drew her last breath. She did not truly need the dagger to know that. Galyan had once told her that love was something not only carried in your heart – but in your bones. Perhaps he was correct.

Head bowed in reverie, she pondered the events of the last months. First the conclave, then the intrusion of grief and the need to make decisions and act with conviction. She'd struggled through it all – and she had survived.

But – was surviving enough?

In truth, surviving was a lonely, heartbreaking business. When the ones she loved had been alive, she'd laughed, she'd felt alive. The love and the gifts they gave her made her the woman she was. She wouldn't have traded a single moment with them for all of the gold in Thedas.

It occurred to her that by continuing to deny her feelings, by rejecting the love Sian offered, she was not only hurting the Herald and being dishonest with herself, she was dishonoring the memories of those she'd held dear.

She knew the first step to living was to allow herself to love Sian Trevelyan. They were equals, each buttressing the other – sharing strength, faith and purpose. There was both give and take and Sian just as readily protected her heart and her reputation as she did her body. She'd given her the protection rune and written her terrible, tender poetry, made her laugh and made her cry. And on those memorable occasions when she touched her, when she looked at her with that crooked smile and her sea blue eyes, the Seeker felt loved. Wasn't that really what she'd always dreamed of? She ached for her. The hard part would be admitting it to her. The Seeker knew she had bungled the whole thing.

Realizing that her brain was tired and her body was quite sore, it seemed that now might be a good time for the nap Leliana suggested earlier. The Spymaster's bed was comfortable and no doubt empty at this hour so she decided to allow herself the luxury. As she carefully stooped to gather her weapons, she heard the footfalls of a runner approaching and looking up saw a ruddy youth in Inquisition livery arrive with a scroll.

"Seeker Pentaghast, I've a message for you from the War Council."

Cassandra quickly took the parchment and scanned it. "Tell them I am on my way."

The youth sprinted back toward the Great Hall while the Seeker stowed her sword and shield in the nearby armory. Soon she was rapidly striding along the same path the runner had taken, all thoughts of resting forgotten.


	16. Chapter 15 - Secrets and Lies

Chapter 15 – Secrets and Lies

Tiny motes of light sparkled in the late afternoon sun as it filtered through the window of Josephine's office. Rather than standing over the war table in their usual fashion, Cullen, Leliana and Sian were arrayed around the ambassador's tidy desk contemplating the Inquisition's next move against Corypheus.

"What of Varric's contact?" Lady Montilyet looked up from a prodigious stack of paperwork, her eyes weary. "Has she arrived?"

"Not as yet." Leliana answered, leaning into a bookcase. "He seems to think she has been delayed. It may be some time yet before she arrives. It is my suggestion that we follow up on what we've found at the Imperial Court."

Josephine tapped her lips with her pen. "It would seem to be the sensible thing. The sooner we deal with the threat to the Empress the better. The political situation in the Empire is dangerously unstable. It will complicate matters."

"Everything in the Empire complicates matters. It's the Orlesian national pastime." Cullen scoffed, his steel blue eyes reflecting disdain as he crossed his arms.

Casting narrowed eyes at him, the Spymaster ran her finger in a sensuous line over a book binding, her voice a soft, but clear rebuke. "Turn your nose up at the grand game if you like, Commander. But we play for the highest stakes, and to the death."

"It is an unfortunate truth." Cassandra's clipped accent echoed as she arrived and took a place next to Leliana. "I share your discomfort, Commander. But, it is the way of things."

Nodding to the Seeker in quiet greeting, Leliana added. "The court's disapproval can be as great a threat as the Venatori. We must be vigilant to avert disaster."

Leliana glanced at Sian, who sat peering at her advisors over steepled fingers. The Herald had been attentive but silent, and as she absorbed Cassandra's presence, her eyes became melancholy and hooded, her voice low, but clear. "Protecting the Empress is the priority. We know from Redcliffe that her death is the harbinger of Corypheus's success. We _will_ keep Celene safe – no matter what."

The elegant ambassador shuddered. "I pray you're right. If your vision of the future comes to pass… the death of the Empress heralds the destruction of everything. Orlais holds Tevinter at bay. All of Thedas could be lost if the Empire falls to Corypheus." For a moment, she paused to shuffle her papers. As she located the critical page, she glanced at the Herald. "We do have enlightening news. At the urging of Grand Duchess Florianne, Celene is holding peace talks under the auspices of a Masquerade Ball. Every power in Orlais will be there. During the festivities, Celene will be meeting for peace talks with the usurper Grand Duke Gaspard and Ambassador Briala."

The Seeker's gaze was on the Herald, her face troubled, her eyes stormy with internal conflict, but her tone was level as she observed. "It is quite possible that her assassin hides within one of these factions. The most dangerous blade is often the one closest."

Without looking to Cassandra, Sian considered her words. "A good point. Does Celene know of the threats against her? Can we send word to warn her?"

Josephine's frustration resonated in her voice. "I've sent messages to the Empress. But, it's impossible to know if she's received them. It would be best to be present to assuage the threat in a direct manner. However, we don't have enough sway with the court to arrange an invitation to the ball. The only way to accomplish this is to establish a greater presence in Orlais."

A long minute later, Leliana pivoted, her hands clasped behind her back. "I have an idea of how to manage that. My agents report a number of rifts across the Exalted Plains. Attacks by the demons they spawn have forced Celene and Gaspard to call a truce in order to deal with that threat. If the Herald were to attend to closing the rifts and we sent forces to provide peace-keeping services, we would no doubt get the court's favorable attention."

"That might work very well. It would certainly reduce the numbers of Orlesian casualties and allow us to establish a foothold for control. We have the troop strength to support it." Cullen blew out a breath, his boyish features relaxing. "Thoughts, Seeker?"

Cassandra seemed to be contemplating the floor. Her reverie broken, she glanced furtively at Sian. Receiving no acknowledgment she then responded quickly, firmly. "I would agree. It is our best strategy."

Quickly the Herald stood up, the tension present in her posture filling the room. "Let's move ahead with this. I'll lead our forces to the Exalted Plains, meet with Sister Leliana's scouts and focus on creating a power base there. In the meantime, your task will be to get us an invitation to the ball. With good fortune and the Maker's help, perhaps we can identify the assassin and investigate Corypheus's involvement in the politics of Orlais." Running a hand through her dark hair, she seemed impatient. "If there is nothing else. I suggest we get to it."

"I can think of nothing else at the moment, Inquisitor. I'll muster troops for the mission. Maker keep you." Cullen shrugged and with a nod strode to the corridor leading to the war room.

Lightly touching the Herald's arm, Leliana added. "When we get word from the court, I will see to it that a raven is dispatched. If we can accomplish this, I believe we should all attend. You will definitely need help to navigate the politics at Halamshiral."

Sian smiled at her gratefully. "I absolutely agree. I wouldn't even attempt it without your support and that of our ambassador."

Quickly, Cassandra spoke up, her expression uncharacteristically demure. "Might I have a word with you privately, Inquisitor?"

Sian smiled pleasantly, but it didn't reach her still hooded eyes. "Do you have concerns about our mission?"

"Not precisely." The Seeker quietly implored her, her brow furrowed with quiet desperation. "It regards another matter."

"In that case, I must decline for the moment. But, I'm sure we'll have the opportunity when we're on the road. Will that suffice?" The Herald strode toward the door to the great hall, her movements stiff, her mouth fixed in an apologetic smile. "Tucker threw a shoe. I need to see Master Dennet about replacing it."

Cassandra studied her hands. "I suppose it will keep for now."

"Then I will see you in the morning. We'll ride at dawn." Nodding to Leliana and Josephine, she turned and swiftly vacated the office.

The Spymaster watched as Sian left, speaking quietly to the Seeker. "It appears that you did a very good job convincing her of your objections."

Cassandra collapsed into a nearby chair, chagrined and frustrated. "Apparently."

"Unless I am mistaken – and I fail to believe I am. You have rejected the Herald's interest in you, Lady Cassandra?" Josephine stood and leaned into her desk, a frown marring her charming face. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"It is complicated, Josie." Leliana defended her friend, laying a compassionate hand on Cassandra's shoulder.

The Seeker dry washed her furrowed brow, then looked to them, her voice imploring. "This is going to be difficult. How am I to set things right if she will not speak with me?"

"You truly didn't expect it to be easy, did you?" The Spymaster lightly huffed, her tone challenging.

"Of course not. Clearly she is angry."

"No. Not angry I think." Josephine insightfully reflected, her dark eyes sparkling with thought. "She is practicing defensiveness because she is hurt. No doubt she is confused about how to be near you at this time."

The Seeker looked like misery itself and Leliana pitied her. Gently, rubbing her back, she offered her encouragement. "It has only been a short while since you've accepted your own feelings. It may be a challenge. But, don't give up, Cassandra."

"You absolutely must not." Josephine advised her breathlessly, passionately warming to the subject. "Of late, our Herald has appeared to be most pensive and withdrawn. Not entirely herself. Nothing seems to truly cheer her. This leads me to believe that her only relief is reliant upon you."

"Perhaps we will speak on the road as she suggested. If not – then sometime on the plains." Cassandra sighed, her voice hopeful.

The light chime of Leliana's assurance carried a hint of humor. "Don't worry, Cassandra. If all else fails, we'll think of something. Josie and I are quite practiced in the arts of quiet seduction."

Flatly, the Seeker retorted, rolling her eyes. "Then I had best hope I succeed."

XXXXX

The Exalted Plains seemed to stretch on forever, some areas the very picture of pastoral peace, others filled with demons and the devastation of war. In order to win the influence necessary to be deemed a relevant player in the political landscape, the Inquisitor and her companions fought to rapidly quell the dangers of the rifts and to secure Orlesian outposts. The days were long, dirty and fraught with peril but the work paid off.

After receiving a raven from Leliana, Scout Harding informed Sian that the war council was re-calling them to Skyhold to discuss the matter of Orlais. The Herald's little company traveled quickly and stopped to spend their last night on the road camped in the mountain pass leading from the Dales to the fortress. Deep in the watches of that night, the campfire crackled and popped, enveloping the site in the fragrance of evergreen. Cassandra sat on a nearby camp stool staring into the flames long after Sian and most of the others had succumbed to slumber. When Dorian rose to take watch she could have sought her bedroll, but lately sleep eluded her.

"Seeker, don't you think you're taking the responsibility of watching me just a bit too far?" Dorian yawned as he stooped at the fire ring to make himself a cup of tea. "Or is it really me you're staying up to keep an eye on?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Tevinter." Cassandra scowled. "I am simply unable to sleep."

His smile drowsy, the mage wiggled his fingers at her. "I could render some assistance. It is your good fortune that I know a sleep spell or three. One little wave of my hand, and – poof, off to sleep you'll go."

"No." She told him quickly, her voice pitched with irritation.

"My, my – we are grumpier than usual." Taking a sip from his mug and settling in across from her, he remarked. "Very well. Then I shall just sit here as a witness to your valiant suffering."

"What would you know of my suffering?" Eyebrows raised, the Seeker prepared to take him to task.

"Hah. Not exactly easy to miss, Seeker." Dorian smirked, his dark eyes snapping in the firelight. "You are lovely and rather tragic when you pine as you have over the length of the entire mission."

"I do not pine!" She hissed at him, her eyebrows drawn up. "It is your overactive imagination."

"I think not." He baited her. "Even for someone as taciturn as yourself, the signs are there." The mages voice lilted as he rubbed his chin in impish contemplation. "Hmm. Let's see. Not eating, not sleeping. Tragic, furtive glances when the Herald's back is turned. Stoic, overly polite conversation. Oh – and most importantly, no dewy eyed, shared gazes or bashful, blushing smiles. No clandestine, lingering touches or moments of suspended gravity. I think that adequately covers it. So yes – pining."

"Ugh." Cassandra scoffed, her eyes tight. "I don't see that it is any of your affair."

The mage gestured in the direction of the slumbering Herald. "Oh. But it is. Ser Trevelyan is my dear friend and it pains me to watch." His face grew serious as he turned his eyes on the Seeker. "I saw the look you gave her that night after Haven. That look that bore traces of self-sacrifice, duty and mind-numbing nobility. Despite my predilection for being rather self-absorbed – I do pay attention. I have also noticed that you've been trying to get her attention for days and that she is conveniently indisposed – and I might add, rather tense. She does look at you just as wistfully, you know?"

"She does?" His words flustered her, but she was determined not to let on. "I mean – what of it?"

"I believe you need some assistance. From an expert. That would be me."

Too tired to continue to hold out, she admitted. "I suppose it would not hurt. I do need to speak with her, but she won't stand still. I have tried. She is polite, but distant. I cannot stand this." The Seeker cast her weary, melancholy eyes on him. "Do you, in fact, have any ideas?"

"Not as yet," Dorian rubbed his chin in thought, a gleeful smile dimpling his cheeks. "But, rest assured my creativity knows no bounds. In the right time and the right place - I will think of something."

XXXXX

With news that the Inquisition had managed to acquire an invitation to the ball at Halamshiral, Skyhold bustled with activity in preparation for the event. Josephine, in particular, was occupied with obtaining formal attire and briefing the advisors and troops on matters of protocol and propriety. The Antivan was determined that not one hair be out of place, that the Inquisition not only gleamed with external luster, but would shine as the very flower of chivalry in the eyes of nobles accustomed to the gallantry and pageant common to Orlais.

Taking the lead as Inquisitor was bittersweet for Sian. Her past as a Knight-Captain in Ostwick and the lessons learned from her father's teachings about managing a city-state had prepared her well for the role. Though the mystery of her heritage haunted her, she was willing to use any advantage at her disposal to rid the world of Corypheus. Being the Inquisitor felt right.

But, soon after she'd picked up the Great Dragon Sword and accepted the responsibility, Cassandra had made it clear that she could not return the Herald's affections. Every day as she and the companions worked to tame the unrest across the Exalted Plains, Sian salved her spirit by focusing on stabilizing Empress Celene's rule and bathing Sulevin in the ichor of demon blood. The Seeker seemed to want to talk privately several times as they quested, but Sian still felt raw from her rejection. It wasn't that she wanted to be separated, she yearned to be near her, but Cassandra's presence hurt too much.

As she prepared to lead the investigation at Halamshiral, she felt the sting keenly. Determined to avert further hurt, Sian doggedly rode to Halamshiral in the company of Dorian, Iron Bull and the Chargers to preempt the Seeker's attempts at conversation. The last thing Sian wanted was to argue the relative merits of friendship with someone for whom she felt unrequited love. To deal with that, she needed time and distance, but as the Inquisition neared the Winter Palace – her heart still burned.

XXXXX

The grounds of the palace were filled with the beauty of new spring. Early roses and neat stands of lavender burst with color and sweet perfume. The edifice was a testament to the grandeur of Orlais, a stately, shining residence with an air of peace. But, as Sian approached with her companions, her nape bristled with a sense of the intrigues inherent to the Grand Game.

In the whispers of pre-festivity excitement, she heard her name and the names of her companions repeated, sometimes with awe and just as often with scorn. In truth, Sian cared little for the opinions of petty minds or the rivalries of nobles, but she knew the impression was critical for success. So, she squared her shoulders and steadfastly, but politely, ignored the commentary and strode purposely to the gate before the great doors to await entry.

Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons wasted no time in making the first move. Eyes glinting behind his mask, he introduced his bid for power as they waited. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor Trevelyan. The rumors from the Exalted Plains say you battled an army of demons and reinforced the truce. Imagine what the Inquisition could accomplish with the full support of the rightful Emperor of Orlais."

Thanks to Josephine's tutelage Sian recognized him. With a dignified nod she responded. "The pleasure is mine, your Grace. I look forward to ending this civil war."

"As do I, Inquisitor." Gaspard adjusted his gloves with a fixed smile. "The empire needs stability and security, now more than ever. If you have the safety of the Orlesian people at heart, perhaps you would look into something for me. This elven woman, Briala – I suspect that she intends to disrupt the negotiations. My people have found these ambassadors all over the fortifications. Sabotage seems the least of their crimes."

It was apparent to the Herald that the Duke had some insight as to what her interests might be, so she mirrored his posture. "It's kind of you to advise me. I promise my discretion and my attention."

"I detest the game, but if we do not play it well, our enemies will make us look like villains." Gaspard sighed dramatically. As the palace doors opened, he gestured to them. "We're keeping the court waiting, Inquisitor. Shall we?"

Sian entered the opulent vestibule well aware that many of her own relatives would have had apoplexy to know that she walked the Winter Palace as a guest. It seemed Lady Montilyet might share their concerns as she hurried to the Herald's side for last minute instruction.

She whispered as the Imperial Seneschal introduced the Grand Duke. "Inquisitor. A moment, if you please? I must warn you before you go inside. How you speak to the court is a matter of life and death. It is no simple matter of protocol or etiquette. Every word, every gesture is measured and evaluated for weakness. The game is like Wicked Grace played to the death. You must never reveal your cards. When you meet the Empress the eyes of the entire court will be upon you."

"I'll be on my best behavior, Josephine. And – I'll keep my guard up." Sian assured her as she ran her hand over her ear, smoothing her hair as they waited at the top of the stairs to the ballroom floor. "Perhaps a word to the others – The Bull, most certainly."

As she heard her name called, Sian gathered her dignity and made her way across the expanse to where the Empress stood on a protected balcony overlooking the room. The Inquisitor managed to maintain an austere expression, though she fought a chuckle as the Seeker was introduced. Despite protests against using Cassandra's full name and titles, the courtier had seen fit to use them all. Sian heard her snort of disgust and exclamation of, "Get on with it!" and schooled her face to hide her amusement.

As Gaspard faced off with Empress Celene she also heard their terse conversation and watched as the Grand Duke made a mocking bow to the Ruler of Orlais. As he made his way to an adjoining balcony, Sian elegantly bowed to Celene.

"Inquisitor." The empress nodded in greeting. "We welcome you to the Winter Palace. I believe you know our cousin, The Grand Duchess of Lydes, without whom this gathering would never have been possible."

"It is a great pleasure to finally meet you in person. I am honored that you will be part of our festivities." Florianne sounded sincere, but her face was unreadable as she nodded to the Empress and casually strolled away, calling to Sian over her shoulder. "You must save a dance for me, Inquisitor."

Celene's voice was surprisingly rich and warm. "Your arrival at court is like a cool wind on a summer's day."

"It is a delight to be here, your Majesty." Sian smiled pleasantly.

"We have heard much of your exploits, Inquisitor. They have made grand tales for long evenings." The Empress seemed to be intrigued as her eyes studied the Herald. "We hope you will find time to take in some of the beauties of our Winter Palace. Feel free to enjoy the pleasures of the ballroom Inquisitor. We look forward to watching you dance."

Sian understood from the tone of the ruler's voice that she had been excused in favor of the next guest. Again she elegantly bowed and spying Leliana across the room, made a graceful exit to her side.

The spymaster fell in step as the Herald moved to an unoccupied side table in the ballroom. Upon her arrival a petite elf stopped with a tray of champagne and Sian courteously nodded her thanks as she grasped two of the fine flutes. With a subtle grin she offered one to Leliana. "Do you suppose it's safe to have a drink?"

The former bard peered at the beverage, delicately sniffed it and scrutinized the stemware. "There are no obvious signs of tampering. It is unlikely that anyone would attempt to poison you at this point. However, as they begin to discern your intentions – we might revisit that notion." Gracefully, she raised her glass to Sian and drank.

Sian returned the cheer, then took a sip of the effervescent liquid, luxuriating in the smooth, dry taste. "This is very good."

"Even poor champagne has bubbles to recommend it." Leliana teased as her eyes wandered the dance floor, carefully watching as guests began the night's festivities. "So. What did the Grand Duke have to say?"

"He seems to believe Ambassador Briala may have something planned for this evening." She told her finishing her drink. "But, the Duke immediately began trying to curry favor with us. From his perspective it seems having a powerful emperor would be helpful to the Inquisition. But I'm not of a mind to assist anyone in overthrowing the Empress. Not after what I saw at Redcliffe."

Her smile enigmatic, Leliana lightly chuckled. "The night is young, Inquisitor. It would be wise to keep your options open. I have no doubt that those two are up to something. Cassandra was right – the best place to strike at Celene is from her side. It is there we must begin. She is fascinated by mysticism – foreseeing the future, speaking with the dead, that sort of rubbish. She has an occult advisor. An apostate who charmed the Empress and key members of the court as if by magic. I've had dealings with her in the past. She is ruthless and her motives are often obscure."

"Hmm. A good person to watch out for." Sian scanned her surroundings, carefully observing nobles clustered in the ballroom and on the veranda leading to the adjoining garden. "Where do you suggest we begin?"

"Our best leads point to the guest wing. It's a promising place to start. In the meantime I'll coordinate with our spies to see if I can find anything better. Should you need me, I will be here in the ballroom."

Sian watched as the lithe Spymaster wended her way to Cullen's side. Though she felt alone, it was no different in many ways than the investigations she'd been tasked with in Ostwick and it felt familiar, even comforting in an odd way. Of course, back home, the suspects were generally of a more common variety and the venue was far less gilded.

Her spine tingled as she nonchalantly mixed with the nobles, stopping to engage when she was greeted, eyes and ears sharp as she heard gossip that was scintillating, informative or scandalous, and often all three together. By the time she'd made a round of the ballroom, grounds, the vestibule and the Hall of Heroes, she was able to discern various factions in the court and had a pretty clear idea of who was in bed with whom both figuratively and literally.

Upon passing through the vestibule Sian spied the Seeker surrounded by a bevy of enthusiastic, young nobles. Cassandra seemed to be engaged in their conversation, her face animated and blushed. With quick strides the Herald removed herself as she felt a potent wave of jealousy wash her neck and ears. Resolutely intent on ignoring the unworthy feeling and focusing on the task at hand, she journeyed to the guest quarters to begin her search for the assassin.

The night unfolded with secrets and lies amid the wonders of the Winter Palace. For every magnificent statue or master painting there were constant hints and clues of scandal and deception. During her hasty, lone inspection of the guest quarters, Sian found several bodies marked with savage stab wounds, but no sign of their murderer.

A locked room revealed a hastily scribed note that bore Gaspard's signature, asking Celene to unite with him against Briala, and the court mage's office yielded a parchment from Celene to the mage requesting her protection from any potential magic wielded against her by Gaspard's agents. It was a start, but Sian knew they were only the first pieces to the puzzle. None of them revealed the possible involvement of Corypheus in a plot against Celene.

Well aware of the passage of time and concerned that her absence might be noticed, Sian hurried back to the ballroom intent on reviewing the information with Leliana. However, as she quietly stepped to the landing on the staircase, she heard footfalls behind her. Swiftly she turned, prepared to confront an attack. Instead she was met by a younger woman in a blood red, exotic gown, with piercing golden eyes, smooth ivory skin and a lush voice.

"Well, well, what have we here?" The woman's seductive tones raised the flesh on Sian's neck like a lover's caress. "The leader of the new Inquisition, fabled Herald of the Faith. Delivered from the grasp of the fade by the hand of Blessed Andraste herself. What could bring such an exalted creature here to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?"

"I do know." Sian assured her, folding her arms in a bid to keep from rubbing her neck. "Seems the Grand Game is afoot, along with those who would endanger the Empire. So – let's just call it important business."

"Ah – confident and competent. Traits I find admirable." Morrigan smiled disarmingly. "A pursuit we share then. I am Morrigan. Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane." With a light touch to the Herald's arm, she directed her to walk with her. "You… have been very busy this evening. Hunting in every dark corner of the palace. Perhaps you and I hunt the same prey?"

From the note she discovered, she suspected that Morrigan spoke the truth. That, coupled with the mage's charm led Sian to the hopeful conclusion that she had found an ally. "That would be a welcome prospect. I could certainly use your assistance."

Stopping at a secluded alcove in the vestibule, the mage stopped their advance. "A sentiment I share, considering the events."

An eyebrow quirked with concern, the Herald questioned her. "Is this a recent event?"

"Indeed." Morrigan's sultry eyes locked with Sian's as she delicately brushed her hand with her fingertips, leaving a key in the Herald's palm. "Recently, I found and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very walls. An agent of Tevinter. So, I offer you this, Inquisitor. A key found on the Tevinter's body. Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can."

"This is will be quite helpful. I believe I have an idea of just where this key may lead." Sian remembered a small door leading from the Hall of Heroes that bore a symbol matching the one on the key in her hand.

"Tis a pleasure to meet you, Inquisitor." Sian blushed as the mage's compelling eyes searched her and Morrigan's smoky words met her ears. "Celene needs me at her side this eve. And evidently with good reason. Proceed with caution. Enemies abound, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter. What comes next will be most exciting."

As the mage elegantly swayed away, Sian watched. Morrigan possessed a hypnotic, rather lethal beauty. Glancing to the ballroom door, she caught Cassandra's gaze and for the first time in weeks she felt her mouth curl into a genuine, but sad smile. The mage was attractive in a dark, forbidden way - but the Seeker was achingly beautiful, a blinding beacon of all that was good and bright. Her heart wrenched, Sian gathered her companions and continued the investigation.


	17. Chapter 16 - Behind the Mask

Chapter 16 – Behind the Mask

Just as Sian suspected, the key Morrigan pressed into her hand opened the door in the Hall of Heroes and led to the servant's quarters. Within she found several elven servants dead by the same means used on the bodies she'd found in the guest quarters. Leading her companions on, she quickly discovered a member of the Council of Heralds with a dagger bearing Gaspard's signet on the pommel protruding from his back.

As they continued to search the area, another find puzzled Sian. Concealed within a garden vault, she stumbled upon a small locket with an elven motif engraved with the Empress's name. Pocketing the keepsake, she pressed on to the adjacent gardens.

As the Herald and her party entered the garden, Sian watched as a figure in a harlequin costume slashed the throat of a servant, then quickly disappeared into a balcony window in the adjoining suites. Suddenly the verdant space was filled with Venatori mages and soldiers. Sulevin rang as she drew it and rushed to engage the enemy. As always, the Seeker fought at her side, the two of them swiftly making deadly progress toward the suites as Bull and Dorian cut down stragglers.

More Venatori greeted them as they entered the Grand Apartments. Sian and her companions continued to battle through them, focused on clearing the premises of their foes. On the second floor near the body of the servant she'd seen slain, the concealed harlequin leaped, daggers ready to cut the Herald down, but Cassandra was quicker. Sian watched the masked eyes widen in surprise as the Seeker's blade passed through its chest, the point gleaming under its chin.

Disgust apparent, Cassandra kicked the corpse from her longsword, her eyes fierce. "Maker take you."

Sian caught her protective gaze and connected with it, her face flushed and grave, voice sincere. "Thank you, Seeker."

"Always," Cassandra replied solemnly, her brow softening as she looked at the Herald with parted lips.

"Fancy meeting you here, Inquisitor Trevelyan," Briala interrupted the moment. "We haven't been properly introduced, have we? I am Ambassador Briala."

Her attention stolen, Sian greeted the petite elf respectfully. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Ambassador."

Briala stooped to examine the harlequin. "Your reputation for getting results is well deserved. You've cleaned this place out. It will take a month to get all the Tevinter blood off the marble. I came down to save or avenge my missing people. But you've beaten me to it." Eyes narrowed she continued, "So, the Council of Herald's emissary in the courtyard… that's not your work – is it?"

"No. The knife bears the crest of another guest," The Herald pointed out.

"Gaspard." Briala noted with a hint of satisfaction as she stood to face Sian. "I knew he was smuggling chevaliers into the palace with orders to overcome Celene, but killing a council emissary - bringing Tevinter assassins into the palace? Those are desperate acts. Gaspard must be planning to strike tonight."

"Artifacts abound it seems." Remembering a rumor she heard in the ballroom and reliant upon intuition, Sian pulled the elven locket from her jacket and held it up for Briala's inspection. "What might you tell me about this?"

The shocked ambassador gasped as the silver finish reflected the Empress's name in the filtered light. "She kept this? What was she thinking? If Gaspard had found this, it would have ruined her."

"It might have meant something to her," Cassandra quietly observed, her voice gentle, her eyes soft and considering as she looked at the Herald.

"Maybe it did. She held onto it." Briala spoke with barely masked affection, seeming to consider the implications, then shuddered in recovery. When she spoke again her voice was brisk. "You can try to warn her. She won't believe anything from me. I misjudged you, Inquisitor. You might just be an ally worth having. What could you do with an army of elven spies at your disposal? You might think about it." Turning to the stairs to the garden, she added before departing, "We can help each other, Inquisitor. We are both outsiders here, after all. I know which way the wind is blowing. I'd bet coin that you'll be part of the peace talks before the night is over. And if you happen to lean a little bit our way. It could prove advantageous for both of us. Just a thought."

The Iron Bull snorted. "Even the elves are trying to bribe you."

"There's so much conniving and backstabbing here." Dorian hefted his staff and fastidiously adjusted his robe. "It makes me homesick."

Sian looked to share the moment with Cassandra, but the Seeker was already at the foot of the stairs quietly waiting to leave. With a resigned sigh, the Herald moved to her side and led them back to the vestibule. Wordlessly, Cassandra stopped near the entry, once again leaning into the railing and very quickly surrounded by a throng of admirers. Annoyed with the flirting looks and fawning attempts at conversation by the persistent suitors, Sian strode into the ballroom intent on connecting with her advisors, determined to distract herself from thoughts of the Seeker.

For a moment, Sian paused at the top of the ballroom stairs, straightening her formal coat, centering herself and observing the dancers on the floor. It was at that moment that the Duchess of Lydes approached. "Welcome to my party, Inquisitor Trevelyan." Florianne de Chalons smiled. "You did save me a dance, yes?"

Nodding with a fixed smile, Sian answered, "Of course, Your Grace."

With a conspiratorial whisper and a wink, the Duchess gestured to the floor. "I believe you and I are both concerned by the actions of … a certain person. Come then. Dance with me. Spies will not hear us on the dance floor."

"Very well." Sian noted that Florianne's touch was humid and icy as the Duchess rested her palm delicately atop Sian's hand. Her intuition nagged as she led the royal to the intricately parqueted floor and gave her a courtly bow. "Shall we dance, your Grace?"

"I'd be delighted." Florianne stepped to the floor in the Herald's company.

As the music started, Sian considered the Duchess closely. Florianne's dress was immaculate and stylish, her body fit, her platinum hair close cropped and arrayed with precision and her scent that of primrose and exotic spice. By the measure of the many eyes present, Sian should have been flattered by her attention. But this woman, like many of the Orlesian women the Herald met in the course of the evening, had a porcelain quality – lovely to look at, but entirely too brittle.

Every step was in place as they launched into a pavane, then a waltz. As they spoke, every word seemed measured, lightly forced and overly sincere. To onlookers, the dance was impeccable – to Sian this woman in the frame of her arms held all the charm of a viper. It took great effort on Sian's part not to think of the one woman she wanted to hold, but she managed to respond to the Duchess with grace and apparent interest.

When the dance ended, Florianne smile brilliantly. As they politely applauded the musicians, she urged Sian to action. "You have little time. The attack will come soon. You must stop Gaspard before he strikes. In the royal wing garden you will find the captain of my brother's mercenaries. He knows all of Gaspard's secrets. I'm sure you can persuade him to be forthcoming." Swiftly, her voice register raised, she offered her benediction. "May Andraste guide you, Inquisitor."

Josephine wasted no time in accosting Sian as she left the dance floor. "Maker's breath, you danced with the Grand Duchess and I didn't prepare you. Are you all right?"

Grateful for her care and amused by her concern, Sian quipped, "No one was injured, Lady Montilyet. Other than a pressing wish for a strong whisky and a sudden desire for a hot bath, I'm just fine."

"One dance and you are ready to retire for the night?" Leliana's eyes twinkled impishly as she approached with Cullen in tow. "I am certain you have more stamina than that, yes?"

"For the right partner, I daresay I do," Sian parried, her eyes unconsciously wandering toward the vestibule. When she realized where she was searching, she refocused her attention to her advisors. "Morrigan helped me get into the servant's quarters, where I found a small company of Venatori and Gaspard's dagger buried to the hilt in the back of a member of The Council of Heralds. We ran into Briala and she confirmed that the weapon belongs to the Duke. She also shared that Gaspard has been smuggling chevaliers into the palace. Duchess Florianne was also forthcoming. Seems Gaspard's mercenary captain is in the royal wing. I surmise that he and the others are awaiting orders to strike at Celene."

Cullen rubbed his chin uncomfortably. "That could be a trap."

"Or a lead. Either way, you should search the private quarters in that wing for clues," Josephine added.

"I absolutely agree." The Herald lifted her eyes to Celene, who stood over the dance floor completely immersed in the activity. "I'll get the others and go. Commander, get your soldiers in position. Be prepared to protect the Empress and the people."

Briskly Sian gathered her party and entered the royal suites. The quarters were dim and quiet as they entered, but as they negotiated the stairs to the second story, Sian glanced just in time to see another harlequin costumed rogue spring to attack an elven servant. Without thinking, she raced to defend the servant, Sulevin whirling into action. A vicious slice to the attacker's neck parted head from body with one compact, powerful move.

The grateful elf thanked the Inquisitor, but seemed to believe that Briala had set her up to be murdered. Sian gently advised her to seek protection with Cullen. Somehow the elf's accusation seemed in error. The idea of Briala assassinating one of her own after her willingness to personally risk her life to protect her agents in the guest quarters made no sense. The incident only served to consolidate Sian's concerns about Gaspard's involvement.

Further inspection of the royal suites finally led the Inquisitor and her companions to a comical sight. In Celene's lavish, but tasteful, bedroom they discovered a chevalier spread-eagle and trussed to the Empress's impressive bed. In exchange for release, the man was willing to tell them everything he knew. Sian was almost certain that Dorian and Bull would never recover from laughing at the captive's plight. Amid their levity, he explained that the Empress knew about Gaspard's treachery and had left him bound and gagged to keep him from warning his master. In those moments, Sian's respect for the Empress rose by a fair amount.

Focused on putting the torch to Gaspard's web of deceit, the Herald led her company to the royal garden fully expecting to take on mercenaries. Instead the Inquisition was surrounded by Venatori archers and faced with a growing fade rift as Grand Duchess Florianne made an appearance on the balcony overlooking the garden.

"Inquisitor! What a pleasure! I wasn't certain you'd attend. You're such a challenge to read. I had no idea if you'd taken my bait." Florianne sauntered onto the balcony with a feral smile.

Suddenly, the pieces all clicked into place. It was all Sian could do to be civil to the frosty vixen. "I fear I'm a bit busy at the moment, if you were looking for a dance partner."

"Yes. I see that. Such a pity you did not save one final dance for me. It was kind of you to walk into my trap so willingly. I was so tired of your meddling. Corypheus insisted that the Empress die tonight, and I would hate to disappoint him."

Sian knew that sometimes people made evil choices, but this level of depravity seemed unthinkable. "Why would you, of all people, throw in with Corypheus? You're Orlesian royalty."

"For power, of course. Why settle for an Empire when Corypheus will remake the entire world? I admit. I will relish the look on Gaspard's face when he realizes I've outplayed him. He has always been a sore loser. I'll deliver the entire south of Thedas and Corypheus will save me. When he has ascended to godhood, I will rule Thedas in his name." The Duchess seemed to be proud of her malfeasance, preening as if she already wore a crown.

"Be prepared to be disappointed, Your Grace. It's not going to happen." Disgusted, the Herald levelled a scowl at the villain, her eyes hard as granite.

"You poor, deluded thing. You don't know half of what Samson and I have planned. And now, I suppose you never will. In their darkest dreams no one imagines I would assassinate Celene myself. All I need is to keep you out of the ballroom long enough to strike. A pity you'll miss the rest of the ball, Inquisitor. They'll be talking of it for years." Her voice airy and bored, Florianne waved her hand at Sian, gesturing her intent to her minions. "Kill her – bring me the marked hand as proof. It will make a fine gift for the master."

Confident that her Venatori would finish off the Herald and her party, the Duchess seemed to be in no hurry as she exited, but the Venatori rushed to obey their mistress's orders as the glowing rift exploded with demons. Clearly aware of the need for expedience, Cassandra cast a surge of blinding power as Sian scythed through a terror demon and began working to close the rift. Dorian followed with a horror spell that stunned their enemies long enough for the Iron Bull to put his heavy hammer into motion, smashing through Venatori archers. Swiftly, Sian closed the rift and as a team they finished off their foes.

Spying a man tied up nearby, the Herald released him with a flash of her knife and questioned him. She was not at all surprised to learn that the man was in fact the captain of a mercenary force hired by Gaspard to augment the chevaliers preparing to strike against Celene. The Ferelden captain told her everything. Florianne had indeed lured him to the garden, but Gaspard had personally given him orders to take down the Empress. Angry that Gaspard would let him die and unpaid for his services, he readily accepted Sian's offer to join the Inquisition and willingly agreed to testify against the Duke.

Now that Corypheus's plan had come to light, Sian and her companions dashed through the halls of the royal suites, stopping only to confront Venatori infiltrators. Panting, they dashed to the ballroom intent on foiling the plot against Celene. As Sian surged to the balcony surrounding the floor, she spied Gaspard and Florianne as they walked unconcerned toward the Empress's position on the balcony adjoining the dance floor.

With a sly smile, Florianne nodded to the Herald just as Cullen approached her. "Thank the Maker you're back. The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?"

Rapidly, Sian formulated a plan. "Wait here, Cullen. I'm going to have a word with the Grand Duchess."

Head tilted, eyes filled with questions, the Commander voiced his worries in a solemn tone, "What? There is no time. The Empress will begin her speech any moment."

Out of the corner of her eye, Sian observed the Duke, the Duchess and Ambassador Briala as they emerged on the landing beneath Celene's position. The Herald glanced at them and held her hand up to Cullen postponing his arguments, then swiftly but quietly moved to the landing where the three Orlesians stood.

Intent on thwarting the Duchess's designs, Sian called to her from the foot of the steps. "We owe the court one more show, Your Grace."

Florianne turned slowly, as if nothing had happened and politely acknowledged the Herald. "Inquisitor. "

"The eyes of every noble in the Empire are upon us, Your Grace." Her anger simmering, Sian spoke in a level voice and gestured toward the nobles assembled on the dance floor. "Remember to smile. This is your party. You wouldn't want them to think you'd lost control."

"Who would not be delighted to speak with you, Inquisitor? " Florianne managed to speak flirtatiously without wavering.

"I seem to recall you saying all you needed was to keep me out of the ballroom long enough to strike. And – I have credible witnesses to testify to this." The Inquisitor began to pace a close circle around the Duchess, noting that the Empress was watching the proceeding with tight, wary eyes and listening intently. "When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn't save me this last dance. It's so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of a council emissary." Gaspard's brows rose over his mask and he stepped away from the Duchess and next to Briala as Sian continued. "It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds, and me - all your enemies under one roof."

The Duchess began backing away, her eyes narrowed as she defended herself. "This is very entertaining but you'd not imagine anyone believes your wild stories?"

Speaking from above, her face serene, Celene broke her silence. "That would be a matter for a judge to decide, Cousin." With a wave of her fingertips, her guard stalked toward the Duchess.

Her pale face drained of any semblance of color, Florianne turned to her brother pleading, "Gaspard, you cannot believe this. You know I would never..."

Gaspard distanced himself from her. Even behind the mask, his face held contempt as he turned away, walking beside Briala to join the Empress on the balcony. Trapped, the Duchess futilely searched for a way of escape as the Empress's sentinels closed in to arrest her for treason and expeditiously escorted her away.

Coming to attention on the landing, Sian respectfully, but authoritatively, addressed the Empress, "Your Imperial Majesty. I think we should speak in private, elsewhere."

With a slight nod, Celene indicated a nearby alcove on the balcony. Wasting no time, Sian joined her. "Inquisitor. I regret that we did not have time to speak earlier. No doubt you have questions about many things."

"Not as many as I arrived with, Your Majesty." The Herald smiled knowingly. "It seems you have been well aware of the danger, but I did find this in my search of the royal suites." Sian again pulled the elven locket from her coat. "It was a gift from Briala. If you are parted, why would you keep this?"

"She gave it to me for my coronation. I don't know why I kept it. It was a foolish thing to do." The Empress's words said one thing, but her face softened and her eyes hinted at an abiding loneliness.

Sian thought of Briala's reaction in the garden. At the sight of the locket, her forest green eyes had brightened and her face mirrored the look Celene was currently wearing. "What made the two of you part ways?"

"She wanted change and she thought I should deliver it. My word is law, Inquisitor. But laws don't command people's hearts. Culture does not transform itself overnight." Celene started to deflect, but when she met the intensity of the Inquisitor's eyes, she breathed a soft sigh and stared at her hands. "I failed her. I should have dared more. But the past, like so many things, is beyond my command."

"Maybe you kept it because you still care for Briala." Celene's solitary burden of leadership resonated with Sian. Her own heart felt vacant without Cassandra's nearness. Though she might have to suffer, if there was a chance for the Empress and Briala, the Herald was determined to give it to them.

The Empress looked up, a wistful smile behind her mask that created a fine dimple in her face. For a moment one of the most powerful women in Thedas looked like a schoolgirl as she confessed. "Perhaps I do. "

Considering Celene's expression, Sian declared cheerfully, "Then perhaps we should attend to the peace talks. I believe there may be more to reveal. For your sake, I think it best that I do it in their presence."

"As you say, Inquisitor. Let's join them then, shall we?" Celene seemed almost delighted as she spoke then walked with Sian back to the external balcony of the ballroom.

As the two made their way they could hear Briala and Gaspard arguing.

Briala stood with her arms across her breasts. "Your sister attempted regicide in front of the entire court, Gaspard."

Gaspard sputtered, rubbing his brow, "You're the spymaster. If anyone knew this atrocity was coming, it was you. I knew nothing of Florianne's plans. But you. You knew it all along and did nothing!"

The elven ambassador scoffed. "I don't know which is better: that you think I'm all-seeing or that you're trying so hard to play innocent and failing."

The Empress lengthened her stride, gliding to them and raised her voice. "Enough! We will not bicker while Tevinter plots against our nation! For the sake of the empire I will have answers."

Sian quickly caught up and immediately defended Briala. "The Ambassador was, in fact, doing something. She was working to uncover the truth."

Celene seemed puzzled. "You were working together?"

Sian canted an eyebrow and nodded a subtle affirmation to Briala. Her eyes washed with relief, the elf answered, "Of course."

Clasping her hands behind her back, the Herald focused her attention on the Grand Duke. "We found a number of irregularities. While it is clear that the Grand Duchess planned to assassinate you – she was not the only one. Gaspard's mercenary captain will testify that he hired men to infiltrate the palace."

"Hired thugs? I didn't expect you to stoop so low, cousin." Eyes narrowed, the Empress chided him.

"Don't be naïve, Celene." The Grand Duke snorted, "The only difference between a mercenary and a common soldier is the uniform."

Eyes still locked on Gaspard, Sian further explained, "He also ordered his general to sneak troops into the Winter Palace. Briala discovered this for your sake, Your Majesty."

Celene's face was grave and her speech somber as she used the prerogative of Imperial rule. "In light of overwhelming evidence, we have no choice but to declare you an enemy of the Empire. Gaspard de Chalons, you are hereby sentenced to death."

To the Duke's credit, he simply bowed his head and allowed the Empress's guard to take him away. Sian followed them within to the balcony overlooking the dance floor, giving the Empress and her lover a moment of privacy.

Sian listened as whispers began traveling through the nobles assembled on the dance floor below, all eyes on Gaspard as he was escorted from their midst. She glanced across the back of the ballroom and caught Cassandra's shining eyes. The Seeker nodded her approval and beamed, taking the Herald's breath and breaking her heart all over again.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. For all your efforts tonight. I owe you my life and Orlais owes you its future. You have done so much for my people and… for us." Celene's voice floated to her and as the Empress passed, she elegantly beckoned in invitation. "Come stand with us Inquisitor. We must give the good news to the nobility."

Celene stepped to the railing to address the nobles, her tone rising and falling, her inflection sincere and regal. "Lords and ladies of the court. This is a night for celebration! Those who sought to poison our Empire with treason have been brought to justice. It is a new age for Orlais. We shall build a world in which all men and women live in harmony. Let the cornerstone of change be laid! I introduce the newest member of the court: Marquise Briala of the Dales."

Briala's voice was resolute and her posture was proud as she reverently nodded to Celene, then picked up her speech. "This is not just a victory in Halamshiral, or within the Empire, or even for elves alone. This is a triumph for everyone. Over a thousand years ago in the Valarian Fields, elves and humans together defeated the Imperium. We can do so much more now. We are greater than our ancestors ever dreamed. Together, we will start by saving our world from the enemy who took the Divine and tore the sky apart."

Stepping to Celene's other side, Sian continued, her voice ringing, "Our enemy is strong and seeks to divide us. But we know that together we are stronger – united we will prevail."

"We are already tracking these Tevinter agents. Soon they'll have no place to hide," Briala assured the assembly.

"But that is tomorrow." Celene cast an affectionate glance at Briala, and a sly wink at Sian. She appeared to be genuinely joyful as commanded the ballroom. "Tonight, we celebrate our newfound fellowship! Let the festivities commence!"

At the royal edict, the musicians once again began playing and the nobles melted away allowing dancers to take to the floor. After taking leave of the Empress and the Ambassador, Sian wandered the perimeter of the ballroom. The Iron Bull seemed intent on drinking Halamshiral dry of its finest vintage of champagne, Cullen was comically beset by a flock of admirers, Dorian was tossing caprice coins in the garden fountain, and Josephine, her sister, Yvette, and Leliana were in deep conversation with regard to the mysteries involved in shopping for shoes.

Since catching Cassandra's attention while the speeches were being made, Sian thought that maybe she should at least check in with the Seeker. Perhaps they could begin to find some comfort in each other's company as friends. But, when she made a pass through the vestibule, once again Cassandra's attention was captured by a thong of handsome, attentive nobles and courtiers.

Chatting with unfamiliar folk and sipping champagne by the dance floor held no allure for Sian. With a sigh, she went in search of a place to think and take such enjoyment from solitude as she might. Nodding politely to the various nobles she encountered, she made her way to the balcony overlooking the gardens of the Winter Palace and settled against the balustrade.

For a time, she just leaned there, watching the flaming colors of the flora diminish with the falling of night. Her thoughts wandered and she felt loneliness and melancholy wash over her as she eventually began to think of the many reasons the Seeker might feel the way she did. Her thoughts were depressing, so when she heard Morrigan's approach she experienced an odd relief.

"The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them? Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations?" The mage teased, "Tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf, Inquisitor."

"I would have stayed – but the punch ran dry." Sian retorted playfully, raising her eyebrow in mock disapproval, "Scandalous!"

"Indeed!" Morrigan laughed, her severe beauty softened in moonlight. "Let's see if you take this piece of news as poorly. By Imperial decree I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid – including mine. Congratulations."

Despite Leliana's warning, Sian sensed an ardent desire in the mage to help. "Your clever assistance is deeply appreciated. Welcome to the Inquisition, Morrigan."

"A most gracious response." Morrigan warmly smiled and while gracefully retiring, glanced over her shoulder. "I shall meet you at Skyhold."

As the Empress's mage recessed, Sian turned back to the rail and once again lost herself to the maze of her own mind.

XXXXX

Since arriving at the Winter Palace, Dorian contented himself with watching the by-play between the Seeker and the Herald. Now that the villains had been uncovered and brought to justice and the party had truly begun, his thoughts turned to addressing the Seeker's concerns as he'd promised. Bored with the gardens, he strolled the halls of the ballroom and spotted Sian as she padded to the apparently vacant balcony. His imagination sparking, he went in search of Cassandra. When he found her he snorted in amusement.

The Seeker stood backed into a corner of the vestibule railing with no apparent escape after having been accosted by a simpering, over-decorated, rather portly Duke who seemed intent on kissing her hand. Cassandra bore an expression that was akin to that of a wet, very angry wildcat. Dorian crossed toward her position and chuckled as he heard the buffoon pontificating on the wondrous marvels of soup. Flashing a brilliant, toothy smile to the luckless, but hopeful, popinjays scattered about the Seeker, he straightened his mantle and swooped to Cassandra, genuflecting and snatching her hand from the noble.

"My darling, Lady Pentaghast," He began, giving her a meaningful gaze that clearly said – play along. "You wound me with your absence, leaving me to dwell in the mysteries of the night without your perfection and sweet charms! But – I would see fit to forgive and reapportion my heart in your favor if you would honor my most humble request for a dance."

Clearly struggling to keep a straight face, likely tickled by the mage's moustache as he dusted her hand with his lips, she answered with a barely controlled scowl. "Altus Pavus. I have been waiting here all evening. It is I who is the injured party!"

Standing, he stepped close and while seeming to sensuously assault her neck, whispered quickly near her ear, "The Inquisitor may be found on the ballroom balcony. I suggest you slap me, then storm out. Go. Talk with her. I'll keep these fellows busy."

Turning her head slightly she breathed with gratitude, "Thank you, Dorian." Then, grimacing, she pushed him away and noisily slapped him.

As she stalked away in a mock pique she heard him tell the disappointed aspirants in a wounded voice, "So much for the direct approach. Ah – perhaps it's not the equipment – but the lack thereof." Nearly choking at the inference, she stumbled, caught herself and moved swiftly to her target.

One thing was certain, it had been a long, difficult evening. As far as the Seeker was concerned the sooner they left Halamshiral the better it would be. The tedious work of recon and covert operations in the Winter Palace took its toll on Cassandra as they uncovered the nefarious plots of the Orlesian nobles and fought through Florianne's Tevinter allies. The ball itself was too reminiscent of the indulgences of her Nevarran family, and the subterfuge of the "Great Game" nauseated her. It would be refreshing to return to fighting demons and pursuing Corypheus. At least they were forthright in their iniquities.

"Holy Andraste, give me strength," she muttered as she searched for the Herald.

Spying Sian Trevelyan from the ballroom, she stalked to the ornate doors leading to the balcony. As she made her approach, Morrigan passed her. Prickling at the idea of that smoldering, predatory, self-assured apostate being anywhere near the Inquisitor, she lengthened her stride.

Sian looked exhausted. Cassandra noted the shadows under her eyes and the slump in her shoulders as she reposed against a gilded balcony rail. Though the Inquisitor tried to mask her discomfort, it was clear that little about this evening had been pleasurable for her either.

"It is likely that Corypheus is aware of the events here. I think it advisable to put the guard at Skyhold on alert," the Seeker announced as she drew near, unsure of how to begin, hoping to get her back to camp in order to speak in privacy.

"Yes. I agree." Still reposed against the balustrade, Sian ran a hand through her cropped hair and looked down. "I'll ask Leliana to send a message tonight."

Impatient to be on their way, her mind set on engaging Sian away from the palace, Cassandra countered irritably, her tone more brusque than she intended. "Perhaps sooner – rather than later."

"As you say," Pierced by her tone, Sian suddenly turned, her voice flat, her eyes level and hard as sapphires in the night, "Seeker."

Realizing that her words were sharp and immediately filled with remorse, Cassandra attempted to remove the sting. "I am sorry, Inquisitor. I meant no insult."

Gaze still locked on the Seeker, Sian softened. "I know. Forgive me, Cassandra. I suppose I'm just tired and ready to be back at Skyhold." Settling into the rail, she whispered, "Just give me a moment to enjoy the music."

Until Sian mentioned it, she hadn't noticed that there was music playing. She canted her head and for the first time that night realized that it was truly beautiful. The melody washed her with images of light and warmth. "It is lovely. Might I stay and listen?"

"As you wish," The Herald said quietly, her eyes distant and troubled.

The sight gripped Cassandra's heart. She'd actually been jealous as she watched Duchess Florianne dance with Sian. But as she considered the woman next to her, she could see clearly that Sian had received no joy from it. She had been surrounded by people since the moment of their arrival, but the Inquisitor appeared to be miserable and truly lonely.

Gripped with a sudden, unrelenting need for Sian to see the truth of her feelings and no longer truly concerned with who might see them together, Cassandra realized that Dorian had presented her with a rare opportunity. Dropping her defenses, she let her heart take the lead. She still felt an irrational fear, but she was determined not to let it stand in her way.

"You only had the opportunity to dance once this evening." It felt like a risk to say, but she felt compelled to try. "It is a pity it had to be with such a devious soul."

Sian laughed. The sound was broken and bitter. Looking up at Cassandra, her lips stoic, her eyes wary, she quipped, "Well, I didn't seem to have any better prospects."

"You could have whomever you choose," Cassandra hastily retorted, immediately cringing at her choice of words.

Eyebrows knitted, Sian considered her. "We both know that isn't true, Seeker."

"Perhaps. But, I would hasten to add that you haven't asked anyone else." Surprised by her own impromptu insinuation, but determined to follow through, Cassandra felt her face flush as she moved daringly close to the Herald's side.

Detecting the challenge, Sian stretched from the rail to her full height, topping Cassandra by a hand. Her eyes narrowed as she pivoted to the Seeker and locked eyes. "What would happen if I asked?"

"Try it." Cassandra provoked her playfully while at the same time doing her best to quiet the nugs gone wild in her guts.

"Fine." Countering with a flourish, Sian bowed. "Seeker Pentaghast, would you honor me with a dance?"

Swallowing hard, Cassandra replied, "It would be my pleasure, Ser Trevelyan."

Sian flashed that crooked smile – the one Cassandra knew was only for her. It devastated the Seeker. She felt the color rise to her face as she began to understand how much she needed to see that smile, how desperately she wanted to be loved.

As the soft waltz "Once We Were" began to play, Sian closed the distance between them, gently gripped Cassandra's hand and carefully wrapped her fingers around her waist. The moonlight haloed the Herald's dark hair. Her eyes gleamed like stars as she masterfully took control of their movements, her prowess at swordplay translating into the grace of a dancer.

As Sian led her through the steps of the classic form, Cassandra found herself mesmerized with the synchronicity between them. Their bodies seemed to flow and suddenly she wasn't sure if she were dancing or flying. She felt light and uncharacteristically graceful. As they continued, her eyes still locked with the Herald's, she became raw - opened up in a way she hadn't felt for a very long time. Sian's gaze seared completely through her, past the warrior, past the Nevarran noble, past the Seeker, cherishing the woman within. Never in her wildest imaginings could she have believed that anyone could simultaneously, so completely steal her breath – and her heart.

As the last chord descended over the courtyard, they came to a halt and stared at each other in total stillness. Cassandra did not want to relinquish the grip she had on Sian's shoulder. She was certain if she let go her knees would very likely buckle. Sian seemed to be patiently searching her face, her eyes warm and intense.

Palms sliding to rest on Sian's chest, determined to ignore her fears, Cassandra bravely licked her lips and felt herself press into the Herald's body. Solid warmth welcomed her as Sian pulled her close. It had been so long, far too long since she had felt this. Her heart raced and she felt white heat shroud her thighs and lower belly with a slow burn. It felt wonderful and terrifying. She ached to know more.

Turning her face, she felt the Herald's breath on her mouth and desire flood her body. When their lips met, she tasted a fiery sweetness she'd never known. Her fears began to fade as she abandoned all pretense of restraint. Sian's kiss melted her as she tenderly explored Cassandra's lips with her own. The Seeker felt her pulse quicken as the Herald's tongue delicately pressed into the flesh of her upper lip. The more the kiss deepened, the farther the Seeker's mind wandered to intimate possibilities. Sorely tempted to let it all go and see where the night would take them she broke contact, gently pressed her hand into Sian's chest and lay her head against the muscular shoulder. Though she was enlightened, she was unsure of the next step in this dance.

"I must stop," She murmured into the collar of the Inquisitor's uniform as Sian cradled her body. Her nerves were shattered, but it felt as if there were no safer place than the arms surrounding her. Leaning back she reached up and did something she'd longed to repeat since that night in the camp after Haven. She let her hand stroke back the rebellious lock of dark hair roguishly resting on Sian's ear and sighed deeply as the silk caressed her fingertips. Filled with equal measures of uncertainty and wonder, she met Sian's eyes with her own. "What do you wish from me?"

"Only what you wish to give." The Herald tenderly cupped her cheek and gently kissed her temple.

"I have never been one to give in half-measures. What am I going to do?" Cassandra could hear the passion in her own voice as she whispered.

Holding her close, Sian breathed against her ear. "Surrender, Seeker."

Still unsure of herself, but well aware of the fact that she was fighting a losing battle, Cassandra managed a soft smile and a sultry salvo. "You should know by now that I must be taken."

"I can arrange that," Sian drawled smugly with a wide grin.

Schooling her face into a haughty expression, eyebrows raised for emphasis, Cassandra riposted with authority and a playful scowl. "Good. See that you do."

"For now, I suggest we make certain to bid the Empress goodnight." The Herald's voice was low and weary.

Concerned, The Seeker noted the exhaustion on Sian's face. "That – is a policy I am happy to support. I am glad to take our leave of this place."

Sian looked at her with eyes as deep as the night and pulled her close once more, apparently unwilling to let go just yet. "Cassandra, you do realize that I might die of pride with you by my side."

"Perish the thought." Cassandra caressed Sian's neck, just as unwilling to leave the warmth between them. "But – would you be happy?"

"I would." Sian smiled against her mouth, stealing one more kiss in the moonlight.

XXXXX

Unbeknownst to the couple, three sets of eyes carefully watched the tableau unfold through a balcony window.

Cullen chuckled. "Good. They both deserve some happiness. I, for one, am glad they kissed and made up."

Dorian winked at Leliana and laughed with delight. "Poor, dear Varric is going to have to dig deep after tonight. Sister Nightingale, I fear you'll be sending a raven to the Merchant's Guild to pay off his debts."

Cullen grinned. "You all bet on Cassandra's love life?"

"Indeed," Leliana piped up, pleased at the outcome. "Tsk. Josephine will be vexed that she was called away. Did you miss out on the betting, Commander? You could have made a fortune."

"Well," the former Templar broke into laughter, "not if you consider the fact that it's going to cost all of you a small fortune to prevent word of this from reaching Cassandra's ears."

"You wouldn't!" Leliana squeaked.

"Oh, yes." Cullen stolidly assured her, "I would."

With a dramatic sigh and a lift to his brow, Dorian chuckled. "See if I ever play 'Mages and Templars' with you again, Commander."

Leliana laughed as Cullen rolled his eyes and corrected him. "The name of the game is chess, Dorian."

With a twinkle in his eye, the Tevinter grinned. "Not in my world, it isn't."

 _[A/N – I have intentionally taken liberties with timeline and some facets of the in-game plot to accommodate my storytelling. For me, the choice for the Orlesian throne was a no-brainer, especially after reading "The Masked Empire". Just to let you know – currently, life for me is really crazy due to my academic pursuits. Rest assured that I intend to continue the story, but – it is likely that in the near future there may be a bit more time between postings. I hope you continue to enjoy Sian's adventures. It's great fun to write. As always, thanks so very much for the wonderful reviews, pms, follows and favorites. I really enjoy hearing from you and getting other opinions about lore and the story. Dragon Age readers are so generous and kind. Please accept my sincere thanks for your encouragement!}_


	18. Chapter 17 - The Taking

Chapter 17 – The Taking

The trip back to Skyhold from Halamshiral found the entire company of the Inquisition in high spirits. The rightful ruler of Orlais had been restored and the chaos accompanying the civil war quelled. In gratitude Celene offered troops and in response to stories of the Herald's success at the Winter Palace, more refugees and free peoples flocked to the Inquisition, swelling the ranks of soldiers, scouts, laborers, tradespeople and merchants. While they were welcome additions, Sian noted with a certain amount of irritation that the large entourage trailing as far as her eye could see was also an added inconvenience to her availability – and to Cassandra's.

Finally, on one evening not terribly far from Skyhold, Sian managed to slip away from the immediate campsite to a secluded birch stand overlooking a fertile valley below. A fallen log provided her with a perch from which to watch the brilliant golden sunset and allow her mind to wander. As she sat musing, she heard familiar footfalls on the path behind her and turning, glimpsed Cassandra making her way through the brush.

The Seeker's singular voice called as she gripped the spare trunks of birch trees and made her way near. "Am I disturbing you, Inquisitor?"

Nothing could have kept the smile from Sian's face. "Only in the best of ways, Cassandra." She patted a spot on the log next to her. "Come have a seat. The Maker is putting on a grand show this evening."

The Seeker seemed a bit bashful as she slid next to Sian. Her throat tinged with pink, she leaned over and gently pecked the Herald on the cheek. Delighted with the unsolicited affection, Sian draped her arm around Cassandra's waist and pulled her closer, overjoyed when she felt the warrior relax against her. "I've been missing you. I'm glad to see you."

"And I – you. I have tried to get away. But it seems that everyone wishes something from me." The Seeker sighed and leaned her head on Sian's shoulder. "The one time in my life I would choose to have time to myself I have none."

"I understand. I'm afraid I share that particular problem. And – I'm also afraid it's only going to get worse when we get back to Skyhold. When this whole thing began, I always seemed to have some time to be with you. But lately, things have picked up."

"You still haven't exactly been _with_ me," Cassandra noted with a low, nervous laugh. "Though I take your meaning."

"That's true." Considering the woman next her, Sian fell silent for a moment and simply drank in her loveliness against the backdrop of the lavender and melon tinged sky. Finally, reaching up and stroking Cassandra's jaw with her thumb she confessed, "But – I really want to be. With you. That is – when you're ready to be."

"I – am uncertain." The Seeker leaned into the touch and looked into Sian's eyes. "I know that I desire it. You are constantly in my thoughts… but –"

Immediately, Sian's thoughts began to spin. "Is it the Mark? Or these strange powers I have?" Her skin began to itch and she felt her nerves tremble. If this were the case, she could understand why Cassandra had shied away from her. "Are you afraid of me?" Suddenly, she felt the urge to rise and pace.

"No. I am not." The Seeker reached to stop her from standing and confidently put her arms around her. She locked her sincere, topaz eyes with Sian's. "I have been near you when you wielded your powers. There is nothing evil in you. I would know. I believe your abilities come from the Maker. I would sense if you were anything other than the wonderful person I see before me." Her voice and countenance canted with concern. "This troubles you, does it not?"

"It does." Sian had given it a great deal of thought. It made her feel better to know that Cassandra wasn't worried by it, but it still left many questions. The Seeker's eager, insistent embrace somehow made it easier to speak about. "Dorian and Solas told me what they could. But, I still don't know the extent and I damn sure don't know how I could be elvhen. If I can figure out how to arrange it, I think I should make a trip to Ostwick. If I could just talk with my father – maybe I'd get some answers." She felt her heartbeat spike as she pressed, "If it's not that – then what is holding you back? Have I done or said some-"

"No." Cassandra quickly interrupted her. "No. It is nothing you've done. It is not your fault in any way. You must know by now that I absolutely believe in you. No one could have accomplished the things you have. It is…" She seemed to struggle with the words. "It is old ghosts – and perhaps some new ones."

"The Seekers?"

"They are part of it. We saw so many Red Templars at the assault on Haven. Perhaps all that was left of the order. What we didn't see was Lord Seeker Lucius. Indeed, I've seen no hint of any Seekers amongst the Red Templars or anywhere. But the Seekers began this war against the mages. They cannot simply have vanished. There must be a trail we can follow. Yet so far, I have only discovered hints. I have a growing suspicion Corypheus has imprisoned them." Sian could see how much it meant to the Seeker, her eyes glistened and her lids tightened with disquiet as she continued, "They are the only family I've known since I was young. I refused to participate in the order's madness but I can never abandon them. I cannot even claim that rescuing them would be beneficial – they wouldn't look kindly upon the Inquisition. But, even so, if there's a chance…"

Moved by Cassandra's concerns, Sian lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "If there's a chance - we'll find them. I promise. I've asked Leliana to see if there's been any word, any sign of them. If anyone can find them – it's our Spymaster."

"You did this?" Cassandra's eyes widened in surprise. "You did this for them – for me?"

"I did," Sian reassured her. Gently soothing the Seeker's furrowed brow she pressed her lips in the wake of her fingers. "I asked her back in Haven. She's been working on it since then. Once we get back, I'll see if she's making any headway with it."

"If I weren't already in…" Cassandra stammered, "I would…"

Sian embraced her tightly and stroked her neck, soothing her. "It's alright. I want to help – if I can."

The Seeker sniffed and lightly batted her arm. "When you do these things it only makes me care for you more. That is why. That is why it is difficult for me to move ahead. I don't want to lose you. The future is uncertain and every day we face death."

"And this is what worries you?" Sian's voice was soft as she pointed out, "I could lose you too. But, I'd rather have one day with you then go through the rest of my life wondering what might have been." Cautiously, she cupped Cassandra's face and kissed her parted lips, lingering and deepening it as the Seeker responded hungrily.

Breaking off with a tender smile, Cassandra wordlessly reached up and tucked the unruly lock of hair behind Sian's ear, her face filled with warmth.

"You must have a special mission to tame my hair," Sian mused, running her index finger over the Seeker's throat. "You seem to notice it frequently."

"Perhaps - once or twice," Cassandra countered playfully, her face still glowing from the ravenous kiss.

"More than that." Sian whispered, her own eyes touched by sudden sadness as she flashed back to the events at Redcliffe and the desperate memories that drove her to overcome their enemies.

"If you don't like it…" Cassandra apologized, stilling her hand.

Caressing her arm, Sian lifted it and pressed her lips to her palm. "No. It's… it's just a special memory. You did that when you told me goodbye in Alexius's future."

The Seeker traced her temple delicately. "Did we kiss?"

"I'm not sure you felt that strongly about me then, Cassandra," Sian recalled wistfully, nestling into, then brushing her lips against the Seeker's neck savoring the salty sweetness of her skin.

"Evidently, I was not yet ready to admit it. But if the world were truly ending – I would be thinking of you. I would wish to be at your side. In truth – I have felt that strongly about you. I denied it, but my heart began to yearn for you long ago. I just could not let myself fully believe or act on it." Cassandra blushed, her fingers touching the rune at her throat as she sighed deeply. "If only I had realized. I should have been here with you – sooner."

"The only thing that truly matters is that you're here now." Cassandra's words from Redcliffe echoed in Sian's ears as they tumbled from her own lips.

The Seeker nestled deeper into her arms and Sian could see the war raging between passion and fear in her eyes. With a whispered plea, she breathed into the Herald's ear. "I desire you. I've dreamed of you and thought of you more often than you can know. I just – I need time to be sure of myself. Will you –"

"Wait?" Sian finished for her, content for the moment to have the woman she loved in her arms. "For you - I will."

XXXXX

In the days that followed, Sian and Cassandra satisfied themselves with stolen moments filled with affection and growing familiarity, but those moments were fleeting and far too far few. When the Inquisition finally arrived at Skyhold, there was much to be done and the two of them spent the first day separately tending to their duties.

After seeing to Tucker and visiting Dagna and Harritt with new innovations from Orlais, Sian made rounds of the fortress and checked in with her companions. Everyone was anxious to hear the news from Halamshiral and show her the various improvements made to Skyhold in her absence. Most of the fortress had been repaired and Gatsi, in particular, took great pride in showing her the restored walls, rooms and the handy obscure routes through the structure.

A brief check-in with Josephine revealed that the stature of the Inquisition had grown due to the success in Orlais and the growth of its citizenry and troop strength. Overall, the past weeks had increased the influence and grasp of the movement. Nobles everywhere clamored to be in the good graces of the Inquisitor and new goods and services were abundant thanks to the work of the Ambassador.

As the evening shadows began to deepen, Sian remembered her conversation with Cassandra and decided to visit the Spymaster's tower office in search of answers. When she arrived, Leliana was nowhere in sight. She started to leave, but as she turned to go, she noticed that Baron Plucky, the spymaster's favorite raven, seemed restless on his tether.

"What's wrong, Your Grace?" Sian cooed to the bird, her voice soothing as she reached for him. The ebony bird cocked his head, then pushed it into her arm seeming to seek comfort. Gently she unlaced the tether, fastened it to her own wrist, carried him to the worktable and sat down. Exercising caution, she stroked his neck and breast with her fingers, carefully combing his feathers. "You've been missing your friend, haven't you?" Her low tone and quiet touch calmed him and he made soft purling noises giving voice to his delight.

"You are so different than the picture of the righteous, terrifying Inquisitor the world is coming to expect." Sian heard Leliana chuckle behind her on the stairs.

"Oh…" The Herald impishly quirked a brow as Baron Plucky cawed indignantly. "I'm righteous and terrifying?"

"Well, there are those who see you that way, as a protector – their own champion. But, you care for little things. Things they would never suspect." The Spymaster took a seat in her work chair fondly gazing at Sian and the raven. "It is rare that he accepts a touch other than mine. He likes you."

"My father taught me that it's the little things that matter. Simple things. Warm fires in the hearth, food in the pot, meaningful work and an occasional kind word. And details are important. If we don't keep Baron Plucky here happy, he's not likely to be a very good messenger is he?" Gently, Sian rose and carried the contented raven back to his perch, retied the tether, then reached into her pocket and drew out a slice of apple. As the bird greedily accepted the offering, she glimpsed at the Spymaster. Though her eyes were bright with amusement at her messenger's antics, she seemed sad. "Are you all right, Leliana?" Perhaps she was tired, but there always seemed to be some detail that tugged at the overworked woman.

"I just came from Cullen's office. The adjutant gave me the final tally of names of those we lost at Haven." Leliana's hand trembled as she gave Sian the copy to read.

The list of names was indeed long and the Herald felt her throat tighten as she scanned the page. She didn't know all of them, but she knew they'd sacrificed their lives so that the many survivors now occupying Skyhold could escape. She had wondered how many lost family and friends to the attack of the Elder One and his dragon and it grieved her to know.

"I'm so sorry." Sian ran her hand through her hair and leaned into the table. "I hate the thought of losing even one. We're lucky anyone survived."

Leliana bowed her head, her hood covering her face as she mournfully chastised herself. "I keep wondering if I could have done something different. When the first of my lookouts went missing I pulled the rest back, awaiting more information. If they'd stayed in the field they could have bought us more time. I was afraid to lose my agents. Instead we lost Haven. You must blame me for this."

"The fault for their deaths lies squarely with Corypheus and nowhere else." Sian reached over and grasped her gloved hand. "Leliana, you look out for your people. That's a good thing."

"Is it?" Sky blue eyes tight, lips compressed, the Spymaster looked up. "My people know their duty. They know the risks. They understand that the Inquisition may call upon them to give their lives."

"Your instincts were right," Sian assured her, searching her friend's face. "Every one of them is someone's kin, someone's friend or lover. They aren't tools to be used and discarded. Their lives matter."

"A few months ago I might have argued that point," Leliana admitted slowly, relief flowing into her refined features. "But you are right about this. If we do not value the lives of those who fight with us, we are no better that this monster we face."

"I'm glad we agree." Sian smiled. She knew Leliana was working hard and felt rather bad about pressing for more, but she harbored hope that there might be some news she could give Cassandra. "I did come to check with you about something."

"Ask me anything," The Spymaster eagerly answered. "You know I'm always glad to help."

Sian tucked her thumbs in her belt and sighed. "I asked your assistance with finding the Seekers back at Haven. Have you had any luck?"

"Perhaps." Leliana reached for a small map of Ferelden and pressed it flat on the table. Rising, she pointed at a small pin in the north. "I haven't managed to acquire a firm location. However, there are disturbing reports that I believe may lead us to them." Peering at Sian, she traced several routes that led to the pin. "Some time ago, my agents began noticing a few of the Seekers journeying into the countryside, here. But, their trails disappeared. Soon after, I heard rumors that Bann Loren, the rightful ruler of Caer Oswin and friend to the Inquisition, had gone silent. So, I sent scouts to investigate his castle and estates – but they are also now missing."

"So you believe that the Seekers may be gathering at Caer Oswin?" The Herald cocked her head considering the routes and the likely destination.

"Exactly so." Leliana replied then added knowingly, "If I were going to attempt to locate them that is where I would begin. It is a minor holding, but well-fortified. A small number could likely infiltrate it best. I take it you will be traveling there, yes?"

Sian's eyes softened as she thought of the Seeker's hopes. "I intend to. That is – if Cassandra wishes to do so. I'm sure she'll want to try. It means a great deal to her."

The Spymaster seemed gratified. "I am pleased that you would do this for her. She is a very lucky woman. You are good for her."

A sudden thought of the Seeker's ardent response to her kiss brought a blush to the Herald's face as she remembered their dance at the Winter Palace. "I'm the one who's lucky, Leliana. I never dared to think that I might find someone as incredible as Cassandra."

"I witnessed your dance at Halamshiral. You both looked so happy." Leliana patted her arm and smiled wistfully. "I'm so glad you found each other. I knew it would take someone very special to capture her affections. But, you have managed that feat. Truly. I hope you find much joy of each other in the days ahead. You make an exceptionally lovely couple."

"Thank you, my friend." Sian grinned, then mischievously added, "You know, she may not be needing all of Varric's books anymore. Perhaps you could take them up as a hobby instead of working such long hours."

"Oh – I don't need them." The lithe former bard wore a smile tinged with a forced cheer. "I write my thoughts for my warden before I sleep and think of how it will be when she returns to me."

"Why don't you try to get a message to her? Someone must know where to find her," Sian empathetically suggested. If Cassandra were somewhere distant, she'd want to know that she was safe and well. She'd want to send words of love and encouragement all the while hoping to be reunited quickly.

Leliana nodded appreciatively, "Perhaps I will do that very thing. It would make Plucky very happy to fly again." Insightfully, she chuckled, "I suspect you have a Seeker of your own to find, do you not?"

Suddenly, there was nothing in the world Sian wanted more. "I do."

XXXXX

Night fell on Skyhold and with it the light patter of spring rain as Sian searched the fortress diligently for Cassandra. The upper room in the forge was empty and the forlorn dummies in the practice yard sagged. Warm light spilled from the windows of the Herald's Rest along with occasional bursts of laughter and merriment from the folk reveling within it. But the Seeker was nowhere to be seen.

For a time, Sian sat in the great hall thinking Cassandra might visit for some supper. Then she went to the battlements and gazed for a time at the troop encampment below. It seemed that her words had been prophetic. Now that they were back, their duties would keep them occupied for long stretches of time.

Mindlessly, she wandered the empty garden paths and found that her feet led her to the door of the Chantry. As she entered, she saw a familiar silhouette. The Seeker's hands rested on the chancel rail, head bowed, silent prayer on her lips, her countenance serene. Gently, Sian knelt at her side quietly observing Cassandra's devotions.

As the Herald studied the Seeker in the stillness, the filtered light of the chapel created a nimbus behind her, framing her beauty and illuminating her devout soul. Sian could somehow picture her - sword upraised, shield lifted, war cry on her lips, single-handedly and simultaneously taking on all of the forces of darkness. But, in reality, she knew her as a mortal woman - scars, foibles and all. Seeker of Truth, Hero of Orlais, 78th in line to the Nevarran throne, and Protector of the Inquisition were all worthy titles. Without a doubt she was one of the strongest, most magnificent women Sian had ever met. But in that long moment of meditation she saw Cassandra's faithful, passionate heart and her vulnerability - and purely loved her all the more for it.

"We've come a long way together – you and I. And - I believe we have still much farther to go." Eyes cast ahead, voice catching in her throat, the Seeker broke the stillness, her voice as measured as a metronome. "I think of you constantly. I cannot stop. Sweet Andraste knows I have tried. But I denied the truth – and you for far too long."

Sharing the sanctuary, the warriors turned to face each other. A brief moment hung as their eyes met, like swimmers taking a deep breath before diving into the sea.

"I cannot know what the future holds. But I do not want the fear of it to control me." Cassandra's eyes glistened with longing as she directed them to the Herald. "I want to be with you – if you would still have me. For whatever time we may have."

Sian's eyes misted as she considered her companion. Her face was pale even in the candlelight, her eyes earnest, her lips slightly parted in invitation. Silently, she gathered the Seeker into her arms and passionately kissed her.

"I desire more," Cassandra sighed, leaning her forehead into Sian's chest, "but, not here."

Sian understood. The Maker's gaze might find them anywhere, but Andraste's sanctuary held meaning the Seeker had not quite reconciled with the carnality of human love. Rising, she took Cassandra's hand. "Then leave that to me."

Quietly Sian led the Seeker through the clandestine passage that cut past the public areas of the keep to the hidden staircase leading up to her quarters. Hand in hand they climbed. With each footfall Sian could feel the tension rise, her head swimming with desire, her heart full.

Upon entering the Herald's quarters, they navigated the room and stood by the lush bed. Cassandra shucked her gloves and glanced at her, eyes pleading, nervously smiling. Sian gripped her biceps gently and guided her close. "Are you certain you are ready for this?"

"I ache for your touch." Cassandra clutched her tightly and admitted into her neck, "It has been a long time since I have been with anyone." Sian felt her shudder as she finished, "After all of this – we could lose each other."

"That's a risk I am willing to take – if you are. Do you trust me?"

"Maker help me. I do." As if to seal those words, Cassandra eagerly pressed her lips to the Herald's.

Sian deepened the kiss, caressing the Seeker's face, drawing her thumb over the long scar on her jaw and running her fingers through her dark sleek hair, around the rim of her ear, and down her neck. Their eyes locked and remained that way, mesmerized by their shared hunger.

Starting slowly, Sian deftly removed the Seeker's belt and unbuckled the straps of the eye-emblazoned breastplate, letting them drop to the floor. She pulled the neatly tucked tunic open, then loosened the laces of Cassandra's breeches. Reaching under the shirt fabric, she cupped the supple breasts within, delighting in the fullness, then ran her fingertips down the Seeker's belly and felt a sigh escape against her neck as her palms rested in the hollows of her shapely hips. The noble's eyes held awe and she smiled that adoring, crooked smile. "Do you have any idea of how exquisite you are, Cassandra?"

The Seeker nodded bashfully. "Only when you look at me that way."

Reverently, Sian kissed the enticing divot at the base of Cassandra's throat, then brushed her lips up her jaw and past her ear lobe, stopping to kiss her temple. "I never tire of looking," she whispered.

Blushing, Cassandra reciprocated, her fingers trembling as she unbuttoned the Inquisitor's snowy shirt. Hesitantly, she stretched out her hand and with the tips of her fingers traced a quivering line of pure fire from collarbone to collarbone and over Sian's sternum resting her touch just inside the waistband of the Inquisitor's trousers.

Sian felt her uncertainty, saw the tremor of her nerves and gently drew her into her arms. She purred into Cassandra's ear as she nuzzled her jaw and planted a delicate kiss on the ball of her shoulder. "Let's dance."

"If I had doubts before, now I am certain you are fade-touched." Her dark eyebrows raised, the Seeker softly laughed, "There is no music."

"Yes, there is." Taking Cassandra's palm Sian placed it over the little scar by her heart, then enveloped her in a full embrace. "Follow me. I'll show you."

Burrowing into the sweetness of Cassandra's neck, Sian set a swaying rhythm, softly humming the tune from the Winter Palace. As they moved together in the firelight, she felt the Seeker's muscles uncoil and her guard drop. Gently, she stroked the warm, smooth skin beneath her hands, alternating over the sides of her spine from collar to hip as she explored and felt the reciprocal press it invoked. Still moving side to side, she slipped her leg between the Seeker's thighs, then reached into the back of her breeches, cupping the firm sleek flesh there, and guided her closer. At the heightened contact, Cassandra's body shuddered and she gasped. For a time, they held each other, the music of their bodies building to a prelude of things to come.

Cassandra searched the Herald's face, her smoky eyes soft and yearning. Sian tilted her head, offering her lover a patient dare. The Seeker responded in force, her body quickening and quaking with desire as she drew the noble's head down and into a fierce kiss. True to her promise at Halamshiral, Sian answered the challenge and took her.

The taking was tender – soft as a whispered prayer, as binding as the Seeker's vows. But, the act was not lacking in symmetry. On the contrary, the sensual, natural liturgy between the Herald and the Seeker was rife with shared desire and love, much like the dance at the Winter Palace.

Cassandra marveled as Sian reverently searched her body - her fingers, lips and tongue seeking and finding clandestine, vulnerable sites that set her nerves and senses aflame. Different combinations of touch catapulted her into an array of new sensations. She was not naïve, but this felt new and her heart seemed to grow wings.

As she surrendered her body to Sian, she experienced levels of passion in wondrous variety from gentle as a rippling brook to the intensity of a reckoning from the heavens. Drawn out by the shared miracle of intimate proximity, the first layer melted into her flesh like healing mist as their naked bodies twined together, their lips immediately pressing into a sultry progression of deeper and deeper kisses. The second brought with it an invocation of unrelenting need, breaking the surface as their hands mapped skin in sacred procession over new terrain. The third became a fervid supplication as Cassandra felt pliant lips circle her breasts, compressing, pulling and teasing in uplifted acclamation. The fourth ascended like a hymn, skilled hands drawing resounding notes she'd never heard before and opening her body like a holy well. At the count of five, the Herald was still in the midst of adoration, seeking an even deeper sacrament. The lovers were breathless, enraptured in wonder, desire and love for each other.

When Sian first firmly guided her to the oversized bed, Cassandra felt self-conscious. It had been so long since she had touched and been touched this way. Though she shivered with want, she had still been tense. Now, as the Inquisitor wrapped her close, feeding the fire and venerating her body, she felt shameless. Cassandra grasped her lover's head and pulled her into a lingering kiss. Lips caressing, tongues searching, the Seeker gripped the Herald's hand at her breast and moved it between her thighs. She whispered urgently as her mouth watered, her body yearning to be filled, "More. Deeper."

Sian smiled against her lips and her fingers felt like samite as they entered her, sweeping Cassandra into an otherworldly realm of emotion. Sunlight seemed to stream behind her eyes as her spirit lifted and she could see herself, face shining, as she lost herself in a new canticle – the Anthem of the Herald. Laughing and crying, she locked eyes with her lover and saw her heart mirrored there.

As Sian's fingers twined within, her thumb circled hooded flesh sparking a sensation of lightning-quick currents. Cassandra heard and then felt harmonic echoes in the pitch of her hips. A rush of wind gust through her ears and she could see the two of them surging to the precipice of an otherworldly waterfall. Desperate to survive the flight, she clung to Sian, gasping for breath, thrilling for the sudden descent.

"I love you, Cassandra." Sian's chant pierced her heart and amplified her senses.

Skin rippling, she heard her voice cry out in release. In the surge, she felt chilled droplets of mist mixed with the heat of the sun. Tumbling, she fell, her whole being light, immersed in Sian's presence and passion, into the depths below. In sweet surrender they floated, joined elementally in spirit and water, wrapped in each other's arms.

Still tingling, Cassandra looked on in amazement as Sian dropped her body lower, positioning her head over blushing flesh. Deep sea blue eyes petitioned silently as the Herald caressed her knees and gently drew her legs over her shoulders, her gaze direct, but tender.

Cassandra returned the gaze and felt her lips curl into a mild, but indulgent smile. She felt sated, but moved by the Herald's devotion, she couldn't refuse. Nodding in shy affirmation, she ran her fingers through Sian's hair, stroking her face and her neck. Sian lowered her mouth, drinking, drawing more, tasting, tongue soothing and yet stoking the fire once again.

The Seeker wasn't certain she had any more to give but as she felt a solid, but tender touch part her again, a powerful shudder coursed through her body. A subtle twist of fingers targeted a secret swell, releasing tendrils of fire that rushed to meet the pressure within. The effect was primal - fiery waters exploding through steaming flesh, raging through her veins, burning through her skin, building in her mind until it burst like a cathedral window. Broken light and vibrant colors flared behind her eyelids as pleasure ravaged her senses. Nearly seizing, she doubled over, clasping Sian close, drawing her near, wishing she could pull her within so their souls could never part. Seeming to sense her ache, Sian clung to her, holding her tightly as Cassandra quaked in her hands, completely undone.

As they recovered, Sian lay with her head resting on the Seeker's flank while Cassandra idly ran her fingers through her hair. "Never in my life have I thought that reality might make dreams pale in comparison. Is there nothing you cannot do? I have come to believe there is nothing – and it frightens me."

"There are many things." Shifting, Sian languidly lifted up to nuzzle the pale, soft flesh beneath her cheek. "But – nothing seems impossible when you're with me."

In the firelight Sian noticed a long, thick scar nearly in the crease of a well-defined thigh. Gently she teased her finger over the old wound, and tenderly kissed it. "This is why you limp sometimes, isn't it?"

Cassandra sighed. "It is. It is my souvenir from chasing down the Divine's assassins in Val Royeaux. It was quite deep. Had Galyan not been there to heal it, I would likely be unable to even walk."

Looking up, Sian noticed her lover's pensive expression as she caressed the scar with her thumb. "I'm sorry. Maybe it's… do you wish me to stop?"

Cassandra placed her fingers under Sian's chin forcing her to look up, then guided her up to eye level pulling her close to her breast. "I do not."

"But you seem to be thinking of…"

"Galyan?" Her bronze eyes filled as she spoke. "For a moment I was. You must understand. I loved him. Completely. Habitually. He was the love of my youth. But I believe you are the love of my life. It has taken me some time to allow myself to embrace how important you are to me. How deeply I care for you and you for me. Now that I have – I never want it to end." Bringing Sian's face close – she kissed her possessively, ferociously. "I will not let Corypheus win. I will not let him take you from me."

"I would never willingly leave you. You must know that." The Herald whispered a promise into her skin, "No matter what happens, I will always find you."

Cassandra remembered the words of the poem. "I believe you."

"Good," Sian sighed with contentment. Looking up with furrowed brows, she murmured, "Would you do something for me?"

"You have demanded so little of me this night – how could I refuse?" Still marveling at the depth of her own feelings and the tenderness of the night, Cassandra smiled and smoothed her hand over the worried forehead.

"After this – I hope I'm more to you than a title." The Herald's eyes were earnest and her voice was grave. "I want to hear my name on your lips."

"You are so much more to me." Moved by such a simple need, Cassandra wrapped her arms around her lover and spoke softly in her ear. "You are the one I love, Sian."

Face nestled into Cassandra's neck, Sian whispered. "Will you stay?"

"For as long as the Maker allows it." Cassandra breathed, caressing Sian's back. "I would be a great fool not to."


	19. Chapter 18 - What Lies Within

Chapter 18 – What Lies Within

The aroma of dark Antivan coffee, a hint of something vaguely sweet and the unmistakable scent of bacon assaulted Sian's nose as she opened her eyes. Blinking in an effort to adjust to the early morning sun filtering through colored glass, her mind meandered pleasantly to the night before. The woman in her arms nestled into her neck with a contented sigh, soft ebony hair tickling Sian's ear as she burrowed ever deeper into her shoulder in a thinly veiled attempt to recapture slumber. It was still early and although breakfast was a temptation, Sian hadn't the heart to fully waken the Seeker. Instead she lay there simply observing her lover, recollecting every pleasant sensation from the night before and reveling in the feel – the utter delight, of waking up next to Cassandra.

She must have drowsed, because her next memory of waking was to soft lips gently, but eagerly, kissing her mouth and a pair of extraordinary bronze eyes filled with affection and renewed passion watching her. Dexterous fingers played across her shoulders and teased down her abdomen creating a wave of delicious shivers in her body. The kiss intensified and before she realized it the two of them were engaged in a repeat performance of the night before, with Cassandra practicing some recently learned skills and adding a few twists of her own that left Sian breathless and panting.

"I know there is much to be done but I would wish to begin every day this way." Cassandra shifted, leisurely running her hand the entire length of the Herald's athletic leg from thigh to ankle as she slowly rose from bed.

Sian struggled to refocus her brain and silence her body as the contact broke. "It should be matter of policy," she assured her adorable lover in an amused, sultry voice as she watched Cassandra cross to the pile of clothes on the floor. "Surely, you're not in a hurry to dress, are you?"

"Not precisely." The Seeker slipped into a carefully selected item from the pile with a coy, satisfied smile painted on her lips. "But, I think some clothing might prevent distraction from our breakfast."

"Hmm. I'm not sure about that, Seeker." Sian swallowed as she considered the sight in front of her. "I'm rather sidetracked by the way you look in my shirt. I'm absolutely convinced you look better in it than I do."

"Funny. I rather enjoy you out of it," Cassandra smirked, her eyes still lusty and her hair deliciously mussed.

As Cassandra returned she stopped to retrieve the tray left on the Inquisitor's desk and Sian took those moments to appreciate the way the shirt bloused around the Seeker's perfect breasts while leaving just enough of an opening in the front to view the enticing cleavage within it. Marveling at her own relentless curiosity and unrepentant libido, Sian realized she would likely spend a great deal of time in the future reining in her desires.

Rising to sit at the edge of the bed, the Herald assisted the Seeker with placing the goodies between them and noticed a small piece of parchment neatly placed against the coffee pot. "What's for breakfast? Conventionally, the menu is on paper but paper isn't on the menu."

"It appears to be a note." Cassandra's neck colored as she plucked it up and read it. "Ugh." Handing the little paper to Sian to peruse, the tint rapidly spread to her earlobes.

Quickly, Sian scanned it and heartily laughed.

It read:

 _Dearest Friends,_

 _I was certain your appetites would require sustenance that might enable you to begin your day. Please accept this complimentary meal along with my relief that you've finally consummated your relationship and my heartiest congratulations to you both. Never let it be said that I'm a poor loser._

 _Varric_

Then scrawled beneath it, in what appeared to be a child's hand:

 _The blueberry jam is for Cassandra._

 _Cole_

"I suppose I should be thrilled," Cassandra sighed with resignation as she eyed the brimming little jam pot. "It is most certainly for the best that I not know how this repast might have been delivered."

"What did he mean about not being a poor loser?" Eyebrow quirked, Sian poured coffee as she spoke.

The Seeker snorted, then chuckled smugly, "As we journeyed from Halamshiral Cullen informed me that Varric had been taking bets on whether I would succumb to your charms. Apparently, he believed I would withhold my affections indefinitely." She reached over the side of the bed and retrieved her coin purse, hefting it to Sian, who deftly caught it and whistled at the weight in her palm. "Cullen blackmailed the winners at the Winter Palace and gave this to me yesterday. He felt that in good conscience he should share it."

As the Herald slathered a biscuit with butter and a generous dollop of sticky jam and handed it to the Seeker, her lips curled mischievously. "Our Commander is more of a pirate than I would have thought possible. I suppose they all know about us?"

"I think it inescapable." Accepting the offering, the Seeker seemed flustered and bashfully glanced away. "Does this anger you?"

Sian delicately caressed her neck and pulled her face near. "Not at all," she answered, her voice low and gentle. "I'm certain the teasing will be relentless, but I believe they wish us well. And – it will make it much easier as we wander Thedas." Tenderly, she tasted a blueberry tainted lip. "I'm not anxious to give up the sight of you in the morning."

"Nor I – you." Cassandra punctuated her comment by popping the remaining fruit smeared bread in her mouth. "But – we should practice some decorum. It would not do to be thought giddy children."

"I think we're both grown-up enough to handle it." Her eyes twinkling, Sian was certain it would test her sense of propriety. But she knew, for the Seeker's sake and for the sake of the Inquisition, she would do anything to protect their dignity and position. It would be a fine line – but she'd manage. "Are you ready to test our resolve?"

"In what way?" Cassandra quirked an eyebrow as she reached for another biscuit.

"I spoke with Leliana yesterday," Sian answered around a mouthful of bacon and a swallow of coffee. "I don't want to get your hopes up, but – she thinks she has an idea of where The Seekers of Truth may be found."

"Thank the Maker!" Cassandra looked up, her eyes shining. "That's incredible! Where?!"

"Their trails lead to Caer Oswin. Our own scouts have disappeared trying to track them." The Herald tried to communicate caution, but the sheer delight in Cassandra's countenance demonstrated failure on that count. "We don't know what the Seekers were doing or what may be going on there. It could be yet another of Corypheus's traps. But I believe we need to know."

"I agree completely." The Seeker vibrated with anticipation, her voice pitched an octave higher with excitement. "When? Is it possible to go soon?"

"As soon as I inform the Council… and I suppose we might need clothes and weapons and…," Sian's reply was cut off by Cassandra's lips fervently merging with her own and her arms pulling her into a warm embrace.

"I cannot thank you enough for this." The Seeker's face was radiant.

Her arms pulling Cassandra closer, Sian prayed to the Maker that Caer Oswin would yield the answer the Seeker hoped to find. It would break her heart if her comrades were not there – or worse.

XXXXX

The vernal winds carried a hint of the lushness of summer as Sian led her companions and a small group of scouts out of the Frostbacks and into the forest surrounding the minor keep of Caer Oswin. Tucker seemed to be of a mind to frolic as they made their way closer. His glossy neck arching, his gait a dance, he teased and tugged at the bit. It was only with a whicker of what suspiciously sounded like reproach from Starfire, the Seeker's steady mare, that he seemed to settle down.

As Cassandra reined the mare next to Sian, she appeared anxious. "We are getting close now."

Sian's eyes held concern as she contemplated the proximity to the castle. "It looks that way. Are you alright?"

Sighing deeply, her eyes troubled and distant, Cassandra answered in a tight voice. "It concerns me that we've seen no sign of anyone. My comrades would be vigilant. It is odd that there are no watches posted."

"We aren't that close yet, Cassandra," Sian reassured her, "that may be a good sign."

"I hope you are right. It may be that they feel safe enough to only post guards at the gate." The warrior's body was tense, her jaw clenched.

Hoping to distract her for the last few miles, Sian inquired about her lover's past. "You know. You've never actually told me how you came to be a Seeker."

Cassandra's face softened and her voice bore traces of a deep sadness as she spoke. "After Anthony was killed, I begged Uncle Vestalus to send me to the Templars. The local authorities failed to track down his murderers and all I could think of was vengeance. It took some time and a great deal of convincing on my part, but finally he relented. He insisted that I be sent to the Seekers of Truth instead."

"What was it like? "

"I was sent to the fortress at Montsimmard." Eyes wistful and filled with fondness, the Seeker seemed to relax into the telling. "I was so frustrated. I wanted to fight, but my trainers insisted that I focus on religious studies. Oh – I fought it like a dragon at first, but eventually I found that I loved the history and the rituals. I devoted myself to the faith. We train rigorously for years. Our bodies and minds must be elastic to undergo the Vigil and most fail even then. I was only fifteen when I was sent to the Blasted Hills in northern Orlais for my Vigil."

As Sian listened, she gazed at the Seeker trying to picture her exuberant, youthful face. "Is the Vigil some kind of initiation?"

"It is the rite every Seeker must go through in order to summon their gifts. A full year of fasting, prayer and separations from all distractions – including other people. We empty ourselves of all emotion, focusing only on the purity of our devotion. And the moment it finally ends… it's wonderful. Faith realized. I cannot put it into words." For a moment Cassandra paused, her expression contemplative. When she picked up the thread, her voice was low and thoughtful. "If the Vigil was not so arduous, I'd say more should attempt it. What if mages never needed to fear possession by demons? I am told it is impossible however. I suppose I'll never know the truth of it now."

"It sounds like a beautiful experience." Abandoning the portrait of the warrior as a teen, Sian fondly considered the unique face of the woman riding next to her. The youthful face was lovely, but the Herald adored every line, every fleck of golden wisdom in the eyes of the mature Seeker. "I'm sorry you had to part with them, Cassandra. It must have been one of the hardest things you've ever had to do."

"It was." Sian watched as Cassandra swallowed the lump in her throat from the memory. "In the beginning, I was uncertain about Divine Justinia's plans. But after Kirkwall - at first Knight-Commander Meredith's actions seemed to be correct, but after seeing that many of the charges made by the mages had merit, after hearing story after story of the abuses of the Templars – of the harsh treatment, I began to question. Of course, I abhorred the devastation wrought by a mage on the Chantry, but it made me fully consider that the abuses had been going on for far longer than any of us had imagined. The moment the mages voted for independence, our response was predictable. It was… difficult to watch. When Lord Lambert insisted that the Seekers break with the Chantry and wage war, it went against what my heart knew to be just."

"You have a good heart – a faithful heart." Sian smiled, her eyes filled with devotion. "I admire you, Ma'arlath. For your sake, I hope they can be reasoned with when we find them."

"That is my hope as well." Cassandra drew a deep breath and shivered. "I suppose we will soon see. The Seekers need to change. But, they were clearly not willing to. They abandoned everything they stood for to avoid it. In my heart, I believe they can still be salvaged. But not by their own hands."

As they drew closer to their destination, Sian shared the Seeker's concerns. "Whatever happens – know I am with you. Anything I can do – I will."

"I know, my love." Cassandra's gaze was filled with affection. "I am glad you are at my side for this. I could not imagine doing this without you."

The road began to broaden as they neared the keep, but there was no one on it. In fact, there was no one to be seen anywhere. The property seemed quiet – too quiet to Sian. There were no guards on the gate and the trellis was dropped, barring entry. Noticing a grassy glade, they stopped and picketed their mounts.

After a brief consultation, they decided the best approach would be to find a discrete way to access the keep. A pair of Leliana's nimble scouts moved around the perimeter seeming to vanish into the surrounding trees and brush. In short order they returned.

"Inquisitor." A diminutive scout Sian recognized as an especially gifted member of the Spymaster's corps named Charter saluted. "There's a postern gate on the crest of the hill that looks to lead beneath the keep. It is quite likely our best way in."

Rubbing her chin in thought, the Herald turned to the Seeker. "What do you think, Cassandra?"

"No doubt it leads to the dungeon." Cassandra's eyes narrowed as she gazed the direction from which the scouts arrived. "There is no certainty as to what we'll find, but it is discrete."

"We've seen no signs of our missing scouts," Charter piped up, "or anyone else for that matter. But there were fresh boot prints on the path. Someone is here."

"The keep belongs to Bann Loren, perhaps he is within." Cassandra glanced at Sian, her topaz eyes bright with hope. "He is a pious, unassuming man. I would expect that his estate would be peaceful. It may be nothing more than that. Still – I believe it wise to be cautious."

"Agreed." Sian nodded and called out orders. "The Seeker and I will take point. Dorian, you'll be our ranged backup. Bull – you will follow with the Chargers. Once we know more, I trust each of you to meet any threats we face."

"Ah – impromptu strategy. I like it. Suits the situation." Iron Bull grinned, hefting his greataxe over his shoulder.

With Sian and Cassandra in the lead, the little force made its way to the crest of the hill. Oddly, the door to the keep was unlocked and they swiftly breached it.

"Are you ready?" Sian felt her pulse quicken as they peered into the darkened room ahead.

Sian could see the outline of a vein in Cassandra's temple pulsing and her lips drawn tight. "Let's see what lies within."

As the Herald's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could just make out an outline of a figure ahead. She looked to the Seeker, motioning to it and saw Cassandra's unspoken warning and her features morph into anger just as the armored figure glimpsed the Inquisitor.

Swiftly the unknown enemy broke away from the doorway, racing toward a torchlit area ahead that revealed a dungeon.

"Intruders!" The enemy bellowed as he was chased through an arched door.

The warriors followed at a dead run with Dorian rapidly firing bolts of magic as they advanced and calling to Bull and the Chargers. Messy close quarter fighting ensued, but the enemy was swiftly dispatched.

Sian stooped to look at a body, trying to discern the markings on the soldier's breastplate. "This is not a Seeker of Truth. I've never seen this symbol before. Who are they?"

"Promisers. I should have known." Cassandra spat as she glared over the Herald's shoulder. "The Order of Fiery Promise is a cult with… strange beliefs about the Seekers. They've hounded us for centuries."

The armor bore a crest with a hand of fire on it, otherwise the soldier seemed like any other Sian had seen over the years. "What do you mean – strange beliefs?"

"They believe _they_ are Seekers – the only rightful ones. They say we robbed their powers long ago, preventing them from ending the world."

"Sounds vaguely familiar," Sian noted drily. "Must it always come to that?"

"The only way to truly eradicate evil in their eyes. They believe the world will be reborn a paradise." Eye rolling in disgust, Cassandra wiped her sword on a rag from the littered floor. "It's all nonsense."

"It's surprising the Seekers haven't put them out of business." The Herald bounced from her heels, and accepting the cloth, cleaned her own blade.

"We have. Many times. They simply reappear after a time, like weeds. Nobody knows how."

Sian had an inkling of the answer before she asked and the involvement of the Promisers sounded exactly like something Corypheus would invite. "Is it possible to negotiate with them?"

"They're fanatics. Drunk on whatever forbidden magic they can find to make themselves "true" Seekers." The Seeker wore a deep frown. "This explains why the Seekers might be here, but not the connection to Corypheus."

"Well, where there's smoke – there's fire." Sian chafed her arm and offered encouragement. "We just need to keep looking."

"Inquisitor. You might want to take a look over here." Dorian leaned out of a nearby cell.

With Cassandra in tow, Sian stepped to the mage's side. As she viewed the contents of the chamber she sighed deeply. "Well, we've located our lost scouts."

"Yes." Dorian spoke solemnly, his voice tinged with respect. "But, look at them. Their wounds indicate they did not go down without a fight."

"I hate this." The Herald's eyes were tense as she surveyed the pile of what looked to be a dozen bodies wearing the livery of the Inquisition. "Completely senseless. With the back door open I suspect they were lured in."

Making a mental note to make sure the fallen were transported back to Skyhold, she and Cassandra moved further into the passageways beneath the castle. As they entered a cell block near what had to be the far side of the keep, a stench filled the air that nearly stole the breath from their lungs and the buzzing of black flies assaulted their ears.

Corpses were strewn through the chamber, some prone, some slumped over stocks, some chained to the rafters, all wearing the characteristic tabard of the Seekers of Truth. Cassandra strode toward one, manacled and hanging from chains, her face pale with shock, her eyes wide.

"A Seeker." The mangled body before the warrior wore a grimace of final agony, its armor shredded, exposing a shattered ribcage. Sian watched as rage and sorrow warred within Cassandra, but the Seeker's voice was vengeful. "Did they torture him to death? The promisers will pay for this."

"This is a staggering number of casualties. But surely this does not account for all of the Seekers of Truth?" Dorian rubbed his forehead as considered the bodies. They had all died painful deaths and none were in any easily recognizable condition. It was the stuff of nightmares. "Sweet Andraste. What's been done to them? This doesn't look like any torture I've ever witnessed – and I've seen some gruesome work."

Sian approached Cassandra and gently gripped her arm. "There may be more. They may be alive." The Seeker's eyes were wild with grief and Sian could feel her tremble as she stared at her ravaged, fallen comrades. At that moment, the Herald wondered if it had been wise to track the Seekers at all.

In silence, a sense of dread accompanying every footfall, the company moved through the cell block and discovered a door leading to a lower courtyard filled with outbuildings and a large stable. Cautiously they moved onto a landing that led to the apparently deserted area.

The brutal fight that followed might have ended quite differently if one of the opposition hadn't tipped them off. As Sian started down the stairs, a prematurely loosed arrow streaked by her ear. Glancing up, she called to the Inquisition scouts, "Archers!"

Immediately, the Spymaster's well trained rogues went into action. Arrows began flying from their bows and Sian could just make out their forms negotiating rooftops to infiltrate the enemy's position.

A large body of Promisers and Red Templars broke from the shadows, intent on keeping Sian's party from reaching the hold proper. The Inquisition rushed to engage them. As Sian surged forward she could see countless more, bolstered by a force of demons, pouring into the yard, the scarlet glow of red lyrium-studded armor and the sickly green glow of fadelight permeating the melee.

Several times as she fought, bringing Sulevin to bear against the horde, Sian struggled to touch her inner magic, trying to call white fire, and failed. Even with Bull and the Chargers they were swiftly being overrun. As she sliced through the neck of a Promiser that dared to close with her, she felt her hand tingle and remembered the demons in the tunnel after Haven. Throwing her arm in the air, she summoned the power of the Mark, creating a fade rift that immediately began tearing life from the opposing force.

The emerald rift had the desired effect, winnowing the foe down to a more manageable size, but it came with a price. Sian's left hand burned like fire and it was useless for bearing her sword. And - despite the reduced numbers of enemies, the fight was still tough. The red lyrium infused Templar knights could take more punishment and survive more wounds than any force she'd ever seen.

As the clash continued through the stableyard, Sian wielded her bastard sword single-handed, clutching her left arm close to her body, ignoring the flare of the brand in her palm, cutting down weakened demons like grass. Normally, the Seeker would be at her side, but Cassandra moved through the yard like a holy whirlwind, the fuller of her sword red with blood and gore as she mowed down Promisers, demons and Templars without missing a stride.

As Sian lithely sliced through one of the last Templars, she heard a bellow behind her and pivoted. The last of the defenders was an oversized knight, clearly the officer in charge of the trap. The red studded beast bore down on her with a powerful sweep of his greataxe, driving her back. But, as he lumbered toward her, his face twisted in a triumphant smirk, she saw the lyrium studded body begin to smoke and he suddenly fell to his knees before her, the dragonbone blade of the Seeker's sword gleaming at the base of his throat. Recovering quickly, the Herald realized they'd taken the field – every Promiser, demon or Templar not taken by the rift had been defeated.

Cassandra moved to the Templar's body and swiftly checked it. As she stood again, she held a parchment in her hand and read it aloud. "As the Seekers of Truth have proven resistant to the effects of Red Lyrium, the Elder One has seen fit to place them in your care. Reclaim your destiny, and know that the Elder One expects your devotion as repayment. Signed by Lord Samson, Commander of the Red Templars." Her shoulders squared, her eyes narrowed, she scowled, "Does Corypheus not realize that the Promisers want the world to end? What use are they to him?"

The Herald cocked her head in thought, flexing her forearm as normal feeling began to surge through it and her palm started to cool. "He must think the Promisers can control the Seekers somehow. Corypheus sold them out to the cultists."

Cassandra snorted derisively. "And they leapt at the chance. Of course. But this doesn't explain how he captured the Seekers in the first place, or what's been done with them. We must keep looking."

Something seemed off to Sian. She prodded the dead Templar's body with her foot. "Why did he smoke like that before you ran him through?"

"It was my gift at work," Cassandra admitted. "The Vigil grants us special abilities. Mine is the ability to set the lyrium in a person's blood aflame, though it is rare for it to manifest with this lethality. Both mages and Templars bend before my will. It is agonizing. I prefer not to use it unless I must."

"You've told me that Seekers don't need lyrium, you can't be possessed and you're immune to mind control." Sian ran her hand through her sweaty hair and felt the perspiration dripping down her neck, grateful for the cool breeze gusting through the yard. "I suppose it makes sense that you'd be resistant to red lyrium. What doesn't make sense is why, and how, Corypheus could use the Promisers to control the Seekers."

Cassandra's brows furrowed and her lips tightened. "I do not know. But if what we saw in the dungeon is any indication – their methods are vile."

As Sian studied her lover's stricken face, she had an unsettling thought. Briefly, she thought back to future Redcliffe. Something had been done to Cassandra in the dungeon there – she was dying when Sian and Dorian found her, though it wasn't clear why. She looked to the hold looming ahead of them. "I suspect we may find the answers within. Shall we move on?"

The Seeker's eyes were haunted, her cheekbones stark against the gauntness that had set into her face as she answered, "They are my family. I must know."

Cautiously, Sian led them into the keep, but there was no one to fight. Apparently, the structure had emptied in a bid to cut the Inquisition down in the stableyard. The guttering torchlight within stank of oily pitch and produced just enough of a glow that they could navigate the hallways and various rooms. Sian directed Charter, Dorian, and Iron Bull and the Chargers to the upper floors to look for any sign of Bann Loren while she, Cassandra and a handful of scouts continued through the main hall and into the foyer.

It was there that they found him. The one lone surviving Seeker. He lay on the stairway leading to the front door, clearly in agony. As they approached, Sian was horrified to observe that he looked as Cassandra had just before they'd managed to re-open the time rift in the future. His face was ashen gray with prominent, reddened veins lining it and his lips were drawn in a rictus of pain. His eyes were sunken and deep set, giving him a ghoulish appearance. She knew – even before he spoke, that whatever had been done to him was what had been done to her Beloved in the future.

Cassandra's voice was gentle as she rushed to the young man's side, "Daniel! Daniel. Can you hear me?"

Sian watched as he drew a great gulp of air, his eyes seeming to clear as he recognized the woman before him, his voice incredulous. "Cassandra? It is you. You're alive."

Cassandra quickly crouched next to him. Sian could hear the affection and sorrow in her voice as she chafed his hand. "As are you. I'm so glad I found you!"

"No. They… put a demon inside of me." Daniel hung his head, his breath short. He gasped, "It's tearing me up."

"That cannot be!" Cassandra rushed to assure him. "You can't be possessed – that's impossible!"

"I'm not possessed." Daniel struggled to hang on as Sian watched and dropped to a knee nearby. "They… fed me things. I can feel it growing."

The look on Cassandra's face tore her apart, Sian could see that she cared deeply for her comrade. The Herald swallowed a mouthful of bile and fought back a wave of nausea as she fully came to the the knowledge of exactly what had happened – what had been done to Daniel, what had been done to her lover at Redcliffe, and exactly how Corypheus planned to control the Seekers. Her tongue tasted bitter as she gazed at Cassandra. "Can we do anything?"

"I don't know." Cassandra looked so desperate, so filled with pain for the younger Seeker. "This thing inside him… "

"The Lord Seeker." Daniel reached for her and gripped her bicep. "You have to find him."

"Of course we'll find him." The Seeker assured him in a soothing tone as she placed her hand over his, "If he lives, we'll –"

Even in his weakened state, Daniel sounded vehement as he cut her off. "Lucius betrayed us, Cassandra. He sent us here, one by one. "An important mission," he said." Sian could see his hand tremble as he managed to screw his face into a stubborn scowl. "Lies. He was here with them all along. He's still working with them."

It seemed where the Seekers were concerned paradoxes were abundant. Sian wondered how this could be. "But we met Lord Seeker Lucius at Val Royeaux. He couldn't have been here."

"It wasn't him. It was a demon, masquerading."

To Cassandra this was unimaginable. "What? How could that be?"

"The Lord Seeker allowed it. He let the demon take command." Daniel was emphatic, but he was clearly straining to continue talking. "While he…"

"- came here," Cassandra finished for him and looked at Sian, her eyes filled with betrayal and the hurt of it.

Sian felt the sorrow pierce her. "Cassandra…"

"Now is not the time for sympathy." Cassandra's voice chilled the Herald, but the bronze eyes on Daniel were warm.

The young Seeker locked onto Cassandra with a steady gaze that carried a plaintive plea. "Don't leave me like this! Please –"

Cassandra sighed deeply and tearfully managed a smile. "You should have come with me. You didn't believe in the war any more than I did."

"You know me." A glimmer of an impish sense of humor painted his lips. "I wanted that promotion." His eyes grew serious again, imploring her to relieve him of his misery.

As Sian watched the woman she loved stand up, she saw a side of Cassandra rarely seen. For just a moment, Sian could swear that she saw a glimmer of light surround her as she blessed her comrade and bid him farewell in a breaking voice. "Go to the Maker's side, Daniel. You will be welcome." As the words reached his ears, the sword of the warrior swiftly flashed to end his suffering.

The ring of the sword as it left the Seeker's scabbard still resounded as she pivoted toward the door. Without turning back, she spoke and Sian knew she was answering an unbidden question. "He was my apprentice. I have never known a finer young man." When she lifted her eyes, they shone with unearthly vengeance. "Now we find Lord Seeker Lucius."

Sian watched as Cassandra drew a deep breath, uttered a simple prayer and pushed open the door to the outer courtyard. Lord Seeker Lucius stood before them in full expectation of their coming and didn't flinch as the Herald and the Seeker strode in purposeful, matched step to face him.

Cassandra bore none of the confusion that had plagued her in Val Royeaux. Her voice was authoritative and clear as she addressed the Commander of the Seekers of Truth. "Lord Seeker Lucius."

Flanked by a pair of Red Templar Knights, the Lord Seeker sounded almost jovial as he returned her recognition. "Cassandra. With a woman I can only assume is the new Inquisitor."

Sian answered him coolly, "And you're the man that betrayed his own Order."

"I presume you know we Seekers of Truth were once the original Inquisition." Lucius lectured them in an urbane tone as if they were there for tea – not a confrontation. "Oh yes. We fought to restore order in a time of madness long ago, as you do now. And we became proud. We sought to remake the world – to make it better. But what did we create? The Chantry. The Circles of Magi. A war that will see no end."

"That was then – this is now," Sian snorted, her eyes hawk-like as she glared at him defiantly.

Lucius chuckled, "A pert answer."

"So you did all this because you hate our Order?" Cassandra seethed, her hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword at her side.

"We Seekers are abominations, Cassandra. We created a decaying world and fought to preserve it even as it crumbled. We had to be stopped." The Lord Seeker's voice was invested with deep disappointment as he pulled out an ancient book covered in oxblood leather with a silver emblazoned eye and tossed it to the ground at his feet. "If you don't believe me. See for yourself. The secrets of our Order. Passed on to me after the former Lord Seeker was slain. The war with the mages had already begun. But it was not too late for me to do the right thing."

Under her breath Sian whispered to her companion, "He's completely mad isn't he?"

Cassandra's eyes were grave as she admonished him, "Lord Seeker. What you've done…"

Lucius's face was filled with regret, but his words were delivered as a homily. "I know. What Corypheus did with the Templars does not matter. I have seen the future. I have created a new order to replace the old. The world will end so we can start anew – a pure beginning." His eyes communicated his twisted convictions and his mistaken authority as he sought to compel the Seeker before him. "Join us, Cassandra. It is the Maker's will."

That invitation unleashed Cassandra's fury. Snarling, she raised her sword and lunged for him, her face drawn into a feral look, her canines sparkling. As she reached him, the Templars closed with her and gripped her arms, holding her in place as he unsheathed his own sword, looming over her – ready to take her life.

Without thinking, without any understanding of how or why it could happen now when she couldn't control it before – Sian felt herself fill with magic. Stretching her palms out, she uttered one word, "Burn."

That was all it took. The Templars began to smoke in exactly the same way the officer in the courtyard had when Cassandra engaged him. Without further thought, Sian grasped Sulevin and cut down the Templars as Cassandra fiercely overwhelmed the Lord Seeker – ending his life with a forceful stroke that sent his head flying from his shoulders.

Wordlessly, the Seeker picked up the tome at the dead Lord Seeker's feet and stared at it. When she spoke, her whisper carried no harshness – no judgement. "How did you do that?"

Sian closed her eyes, still recovering from the rush the magic had left as residue in her body. "I. I don't know. But – I think it's high time I found out."

Cassandra grasped the book to her heart and cast her eyes to the sky. "I do not wish to leave my comrades here. Like this."

Sian understood exactly what she meant. On her orders, part of her company brought the bodies of the fallen Seekers to the courtyard while the rest made camp outside the keep. By the time night had fallen on the castle, a pyre burned in the courtyard. For a long while, Sian stood with her arm around Cassandra's waist as they watched the flames consume her broken comrades.

Cassandra leaned into Sian's shoulder. "The Lord Seeker was insane. He had to be. The influence of Corypheus perhaps? "

"All these wasted lives…" The Herald considered the heaped pyre.

Sian could see rivulets streaming over the Seeker's high cheekbones and felt the tremor in her body. "He could not have destroyed us all. I wish to see what's in this Book of Secrets."

"Then come with me to Ostwick," The Inquisitor suggested. "I need to speak with my father – you need to read this in peace. We'll take ship – just the two of us. We can leave from the West Hills, send everyone else back to Skyhold, and be in the March within two days. Maybe we both can find some answers."

"Agreed," Cassandra breathed quietly.

They made West Hills the next day and saw the rest of the company off to Jader, where they would disembark and head for Skyhold. After securing passage to Ostwick, Sian got them a room in a well-appointed inn, "The Leaping Stag." The two warriors were subdued but comfortable with each other in the silence of their room. Emotionally and physically exhausted, they lay down to sleep wrapped in each other's arms. Sian could feel the bare flesh of Cassandra's thigh draped over her own. The Seeker's palm rested on Sian's neck, just covering the pulse point at her throat, while her other arm was wrapped protectively around the Herald's chest. Breathing deeply, she could smell the scent of lavender, cedar and leather mingled with the recently bathed flavors of their bodies. In theory, Sian was going home. But with the Seeker in her arms, she fell asleep with the knowledge that she was already there.


	20. Chapter 19- The Legacy

Chapter 19 – The Legacy

The good sloop, _Sandpiper_ , a sturdy square sail rig, rounded the quay from the Waking Sea, making her way to the docks of Ostwick as Cassandra gripped the starboard rail. She gazed at the approaching sight of the city, enchanted by its practical beauty. Even from a distance, the rustic but exquisitely crafted architecture appealed to her. Neat slate roofs and tidy cobbled walkways lined the timbered, rolling landscape, and the soft sienna and umber of weathered wood walls complemented sturdy flagstone steps and porches. The Chantry steeple seemed to rise from the haze, growing like a giant tree from the center of the moderately sized capital to welcome the faithful home from the sea. It was an urban center, but for all the world, it looked natural - like the forest had simply encroached upon the shoreline.

The sky was filled with thunderheads that cast a misty shade of grey over the vista, and cold spring winds rippled the Seeker's dark hair and chafed her face warning of rain. She shivered and felt the corners of her mouth dimple as two blade-nicked hands posted themselves on either side of hers.

The tiny hairs on her neck raised as Sian's breath grazed her collar and her body warmed as she felt the Herald perceptively press into her back, shielding her from the chilled air. "Wind's from the northeast. Looks like a squall's coming in. I hope we can get to the house before it hits."

Cassandra leaned into the tall, solid form behind her, appreciating the comfort as she teased, "Do you fear you might melt?"

"Not from the rain, Seeker." The Herald's chin rested lightly on her shoulder and she could feel Sian's concerned eyes watching as they coasted into the waiting berth. "Are you alright?"

Was she? In truth, Cassandra wasn't sure. Within the circle of Sian's arms she felt protected, safe. But her heart was heavy at the loss of her brothers and sisters in arms, and she felt a weight of devastation from delivering the killing blow to a lad she'd loved as a son. She wanted to lie, to say she was fine, but as she felt one of Sian's hands close over hers, she had to settle for hope. "I will be."

"Have you begun reading?" Sian laced their fingers together over the rail and whispered next to her ear.

"Not as of yet," the Seeker answered with a dry breath, "unless you count opening the front cover and going no farther." The overnight passage from the West Hills was uneventful, but the sloop pitched and rolled with the coming of inclement weather and it was difficult to concentrate. She wanted to read the thing in its entirety without nausea adding to the anxiety she already carried about the book's contents. Ignoring the ache within, she countered with curiosity, "Are you prepared to see your father?"

"I am." The Herald sounded wistful as she continued, "Though I'm as worried about what I might learn as you are. But – we both need answers."

The hour was early enough yet that they uneventfully disembarked and passed through the city. Cassandra vaguely considered that the denizens of Ostwick might have some reaction to Sian's return as the Inquisitor. However, the few people they met as they made their way to the Trevelyan residence were polite - friendly, but clearly about their own business. She'd visited the March in the past on a mission for Divine Justinia and remembered it to be as Sian described it - egalitarian, orderly and rather charming, peopled by practical, hardworking souls with warm, easy-going temperaments. Even the Chantry had been less contentious than many she'd been sent to investigate. If Ostwick knew the fame of its Knight-Captain, no one let on in the least.

Thunder rolled as Sian led them to the great doors of the manor and the downpour began just as she pulled the bell chain. Fortunately, they were both cloaked and traveling light and were able to duck into the foyer without delay when the Trevelyan's chamberlain answered the call. As Cassandra watched, the sturdy man's dark, serious eyes began to dance as Sian crossed the threshold.

Sian grinned, quickly clutching the retainer's beefy arm and pulled him into a quick hug belying their camaraderie in its enthusiasm. "Greetings, Ser Karl!"

"Ser Sian!" Karl exclaimed, his voice filled with delight, as he let her go. "You're home – and in one piece!" With a grace unexpected in a man so stout, the chamberlain hung their cloaks on a hall tree and pivoted toward the interior rooms beckoning within, "Bann Aldric, Lady Trevelyan – you _must_ see who the storm's blown in!"

The Bann of Ostwick was the first to emerge, his gaze immediately drawn to his youngest child. The tall, vigorous man with a full head of silver hair - and the Seeker noted, eyes an identical hue to those of her lover, strode to the Herald and wrapped her in his arms. "Sian! At long last – you're home!"

His lady, an amused smile on her lined but lovely face, followed him closely patiently awaiting her turn. She was petite, but she radiated an inner strength and a sense of resilience with which Cassandra was quite familiar. When the diminutive woman lifted her arms to warmly embrace the Herald and tenderly cupped her jaw, she felt her eyes fill. She'd often wondered what it felt like to come home, to have loving parents who missed her. It felt as if she were witnessing something too personal for an outsider such as herself.

"It's so good to see you both!" Sian beamed, her face hungrily taking in her elders. Quickly glancing from them to the Seeker, Cassandra saw a question in her sparkling blue eyes.

The Herald extended her hand, eloquently posturing in such a way as to allow Cassandra the choice of whether to take it or simply allow it to be an introductory gesture. She knew it wasn't a game – she was always amazed at how sincerely solicitous Sian was of her feelings and how much she trusted her with them. It was one of those little things that attracted her to the Herald. She hesitated only long enough to fortify herself.

Taking Sian's hand in this place, at this time, in front of the Trevelyans, wasn't something to which she'd given thought. But, as she returned the affectionate gaze – she felt herself smile and blush. _"In for a silver – in for a sovereign,"_ she thought as she stepped close, swallowed her trepidation and clasped the Herald's hand, receiving that singular, off-center smile.

"Mother. Father. It is my honor to present Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker of Truth, Right Hand of the Divine, Hero of Orlais and Scion of the Nevarran Royal House." Sian's face flushed, mirroring the Seeker's as she made the introductions. "Cassandra. My parents, Bann Aldric and Lady Marissa Trevelyan of Ostwick."

The distinguished looking couple immediately bowed, seemingly unfazed by the implied intimacy. "You are most welcome in our home, Lady Pentaghast," Aldric pronounced, the timbre of his voice low and formal. "It is an honor to share our hearth with you."

The Seeker returned the courtesy with a formal bow feeling coltish despite her experience and deep understanding of protocol. Somehow it seemed terribly wrong for Sian's dignified parents to refer to her by title. "The honor is mine, My Lord and Lady. But – if it would please you, simply call me Cassandra… or Seeker, if you must use a title."

Marissa grinned at her husband. "I think this one will fit in nicely. Lovely, accomplished and possessed of humility – a refreshing combination. Don't you agree, Aldric?"

"I absolutely do," the Bann agreed with a chuckle, his eyes merry as he cast them to Cassandra, his thumbs tucked in his belt. "I am all for dispensing with titles in our present company. We can save the formalities for…" His gracious response trailed off as it was interrupted by a distinct belly grumble, "…after breakfast." He scowled at his stomach, then looked to the Seeker, his surprised eyes telegraphing a hasty apology.

"Aldric!" Lady Trevelyan swatted him on the arm in chastisement. "Really!" With a resigned sigh, she pushed back a lock of platinum hair and cordially took the Seeker's arm. Canting her head, she chuckled and winked conspiratorially, "Pardon my husband's ill manners, my dear. Let's adjourn to the breakfast table so he can strap on his feedbag."

Concealing her amusement at the Bann's recalcitrant stomach and his wife's sporting deflection, Cassandra was enchanted with the easy affection. As they all sat together in the manor dining room for the meal, they were soon exchanging news, occasionally punctuated with anecdotes of Sian's childhood antics, and tales from their missions. Apparently, the Herald had been regularly writing home. Aldric and Marissa seemed quite aware of the events of southern Thedas and were eager to hear more of the Inquisition. Though Cassandra was often taciturn, she found it as impossible to resist Aldric's humor and Marissa's charm as she had to resist Sian's affection.

The Herald was animated as she spoke with her parents. Though Sian managed to occasionally lure Cassandra into their conversation, she spoke little, content to watch and listen with interest as they talked, captivated by their love and admiration for each other. After the dark trials of Caer Oswin – just being with the Trevelyans seemed like a balm for the hole she carried inside.

His appetite sated, the Bann arched an eyebrow and considered his daughter and the Seeker over steepled fingers. "It sounds as though you've acquired a very, very dangerous enemy. Surely, this – Corypheus is wasting no time with the sky. Therefore, I can only assume you need my assistance."

"You assume correctly, Father. Although, of course, I'm glad for the chance to see you." Savoring the last of her coffee, Sian got down to business. "Cassandra needs some uninterrupted time for some rather important research. And – I find myself in need of your counsel. I'd like to speak with you privately – if you can spare the time for me."

"I always have time for you. You know that." Aldric patted her arm. "Get settled in, then meet me in the study. I'm yours for as long as you wish." He shifted a bit to face the Seeker with a warm smile. "And if there is anything we can do to assist you, Cassandra – you need only ask."

"You have my thanks, My Lo-," As Cassandra spoke, the Bann arched an eyebrow, affectionately chiding her with a twinkle in his eye. As she sat with father and daughter, it was impossible not to compare them. During the meal, she found herself looking to Marissa in unspoken, but shared, amusement as the similarities between the two asserted themselves. The look he bore now was exactly the same one she saw on Sian's face many times. Smiling at the thought, she finished, "Thank you, Aldric."

After excusing themselves, Sian guided the Seeker back to the foyer in search of their belongings. The Herald chafed her neck as she stared at their baggage. "Normally, Karl would have had these taken up for us. But, I wasn't… that is, I didn't know…" As she looked up at Cassandra, she seemed to be struggling. She cleared her throat as she picked up the saddle bags and continued, "I don't want to take you for granted. I didn't want to just assume you'd stay in my quarters with me – though I hope you want to. But, we have a well-appointed guest room, if you'd prefer."

The chivalrous care of her reputation made her chuckle, "That is thoughtful, my love. But, I would much rather be with you. If it would not disturb your parents."

Sian lightly snorted, "Are you kidding? I have yet to ask – but I'm pretty sure they'd already be proud to call you a Trevelyan."

As they climbed the stone staircase and entered Sian's room, she thought about that. She'd never had a family like this though she'd dreamed of it. She felt her chest infuse with tenderness at the possibility of being included in their close-knit circle.

Cassandra spared a moment to survey her surroundings. Sian's quarters were attractive, but comfortable and practical. Book shelves lined one wall, filled with tomes on every subject imaginable and various treasures from Sian's life. A worn stick horse rested in the corner, its face drawn with a cheerful smile, and two empty armor stands stood by a footlocker near the windows. The bed was large. Not as opulent as the one at Skyhold, but made up with crisp white linens and a thick quilt – and, she noted, plenty big enough for the two of them.

Rain sheeted over cross-hatched, very clean windows making the view seem like a water-color painting and filling the room with gentle patter. A dark, polished work table with two padded chairs and a fat candlestick faced the casement, affording a lovely view of the surrounding town, and a modest hearth danced with a cheerful flame.

As Sian changed into fresh clothing, Cassandra was delighted to discover an adjoining wash room complete with a sink and a large steel tub trimmed in bronze with silverite levers for filling them - and working drains. Plumbing was a rare commodity in many parts of Thedas, but it was one indulgence of which she heartily approved. Apparently, the Trevelyans' had taken full advantage of the ingenuity of the dwarves living in Ostwick.

Sian finished dressing quickly and Cassandra took a moment to just gaze at the Herald. Her snowy tunic was open at the throat, her cobalt eyes were dark and hooded, and her raven brows were arched with interest as she reflected the desire-filled gaze. The Seeker found it hard to credit, but just looking at the noble seemed to make her fall deeper in love every day. One moment, she was simply moving through life, the next the Herald was taking her breath for no apparent reason. She blushed as she realized that Sian somehow sensed her thoughts.

"Are you distracted, Cassandra?" The Herald flirtatiously asked with that special roguish grin.

"Yes. I am." The Seeker pushed her playfully toward the door. "I will never read this book if you continue to look at me in that way."

Gently, but firmly, Sian grasped her wrists and pulled her close and as she did Cassandra folded her arms around the noble's neck breathing in the scent of her skin. Her eyes gentle, the Herald nestled the Seeker's lips in a tender kiss. "Then I had best take my leave and let you work. Perhaps we'll have time for a distraction or two later."

"I will look forward to that." Her head rested on Sian's shoulder and she murmured into her chest, her voice grave. "For now, we both seek the truth. I pray it is there to be found."

"As do I." Sian's eyes were soft as she stepped back and pivoted for the door. "I'll be back soon, love."

As the Herald retreated, Cassandra contemplated a warm bath or the comfort of the inviting bed. Though she knew she could no longer put off the book, she was sorely tempted to bask in the tub or crawl into the covers and let the rain lull her to sleep. It would be a luxury indeed to let the sound wash over her and chase away the worries of what she might find. But duty beckoned, so Cassandra sighed deeply and retrieved the Lord Seeker's book from her bag. Settling into a padded wooden chair she opened the tome with a grimace, determined to make sense of it.

XXXXX

The Bann's study had always been a place of comfort for Sian. She'd spent hours there as a child playing on the floor or drawing pictures of the pitched battles from the legends and stories she knew as her father worked at his desk. Maker she loved him. He always seemed larger than life. He was the first to teach her about swords and weapons, and how to ride wild, young horses. He was the model for her loyalty, her devotion to duty and her notions of chivalry. She'd had many fine teachers – but he was always the first among them.

Her eyes scanned the room and came to rest on a portrait hanging over the fireplace. She drew a shuddered breath and her eyes rimmed with tears. The whole family was in it. Brigid sat at Marissa's side with the same bright smile she'd flashed at Sian the day of the Conclave. She'd felt Brigid's absence but her death felt sharper, more palpable, as she stood in the home void of her sister's presence for the first time since the events of the Breach and faced the picture. _Another of the many lives wasted by Corypheus._

"We miss her," Aldric serenely padded into the study and interrupted her reverie, his voice low and gentle. "We took the news hard. I'm grateful that your Seneschal, Sister Leliana, sent her things to us. But… it was hard knowing we'd never see her again."

"I'm so sorry, Papa." Sian choked the words loose, doing her best to restrain her grief. "I can't help but wonder - why her? I still don't know how I lived. No one else survived."

Aldric drew her into his arms and comforted her. "One of the Maker's miracles – no doubt. But, I am very, very glad you did. Losing one of you has been heartbreaking. To lose both of you…" As he released her, he stepped to the window and gazed through the rain-washed panes. "We held a memorial at the Chantry. It was truly amazing to see how many of Ostwick's folk attended. I don't think anyone in the city missed it."

"A fitting tribute." Palming her eyes, Sian tore her eyes from the image, "She was their favorite at the Chantry. Brigid always had time for anyone who needed her, especially the little ones. Maker knows she always gave me good advice. I miss her too. I've missed all of you. Where are Devin and Bel?"

"Devin is in Cumberland, paying court to a lovely Nevarran." Aldric smirked at the irony, "Seems you two have that in common. Bel is staying at the estate, looking after the horses and managing the farm while he's gone."

"I hoped to see them. But – we won't be able to stay for long, I'm afraid. I hadn't really even planned this visit."

"They'll be sorry they missed you." The Bann turned from the window, his gaze steady, with the same golden smile he always seemed to have for her, "I'm glad you've come home, dragonling. Or – perhaps I should be calling you "the Great Dragon" now?"

That nickname always pleased her. "No, Papa. It feels good to be just a dragonling in someone's eyes. If I hear, your worship this, or your worship that - one more time, I'll turn into a dragon and eat the lot of them."

"Ach, the troubles with titles. It does get old quickly doesn't it?" Aldric wryly pointed out as he crossed to a chair by the fireplace and propped his feet on a stool. "We're proud of you, Sian. All of us. You've been through quite the ordeal. I'm glad you've written."

The Herald followed his example and pulled a stool near him, taking a seat at the hearth. "Sister Leliana is quite efficient – and she's become a good friend. Without her ravens, I'd have never managed."

"From the sound of it, you've attracted many stalwart, competent people. Very smart. Never do yourself what someone else can do better," The sinewy man grinned.

Sian swallowed hard as she looked at her sire. As he sat there, the years seemed to fade away and she remembered him as a young Lord with piercing blue eyes and a ready smile for his children. He might be older, but she always seemed to think of him that way. No matter what he was doing, how important – he'd always been there, always made time for his children. A chill ran down her spine as she silently prayed that whatever the truth was – it wouldn't dash every gentle memory she carried.

Pulling his long booted legs from the stool, the Bann leaned forward, his eyes gentle. "So - what is it that brought you so far from your duties? How can I help you?"

Though Sian wasn't sure anything might prepare her for his answer, she knew it was time. "I'm changing. I mean, yes growing and learning – but even more in some very strange ways. I've begun to use magic. Dorian and Solas, the mages, have both told me that I'm something called a Primus. Born that way. Not a mage exactly, but able to use power. And – Solas, who is an elf, also uncovered the name of the blade you gave me. It's an elvhen artifact named Sulevin, or Purpose in the common tongue. He insists I'm elvhen." She shifted uncomfortably, her heartbeat racing, "How can these things be true? Is there some deep, dark family secret I should know about?"

Aldric dropped his head and clasped the back of his neck. For a moment he sat stock still and when he raised his eyes to speak, Sian could see an old pain glistening in them. "Deep perhaps. But not particularly dark." Sighing deeply, he rose, crossed to a nearby cabinet, and after pulling out glasses and a bottle of whiskey, poured two drinks. "I knew this day would come. Seems I have a story that needs telling." Resuming his seat, he handed her a glass and searched her eyes. "I love you with my whole heart, Sian. Have since the first time I held you in my arms."

"I know that, Father," Sian assured him, her brows furrowed. "But – whatever it is. I need to know."

After taking a long pull from his drink, Aldric sighed. "Very well. This make take a while." Setting his glass on a nearby table, he let his tale unfold. "When I was a few years younger than you are now, you know my own father was the Bann. One day word came to us that a group of spies from Tevinter were operating in the Northern watches of Ostwick, around the Vimmarks. Your grandfather tasked me, Ser Karl and three other well-trusted warriors to seek them out. Angered by their temerity, he told me to absolutely destroy them."

"Did you?" Elbows resting on her knees, she leaned forward in interest.

"No. When we got to the watches we realized that they were up to something. I knew if we killed them out of hand we would never discover why they'd bothered to infiltrate in the first place. Instead, we shadowed them. It was curious – the Tevinters always played cat and mouse with us, but this bunch appeared to actually be looking for something. What truly made us take notice was that we observed them hiding from, and then eventually ambushing, some of their own forces. It was very odd."

Since meeting Dorian, Sian had become aware of the factions within Tevinter. "That does seem a good reason to watch them carefully. What were they doing?"

"As I said – looking for something. It took quite a while – but we were patient. Finally, one day we lost sight of them. But, Ser Karl picked up their trail. We found them at the entrance to what looked like an old cave. It was tremendously overgrown and in all of years of riding through the watch I'd never noticed it before. We discovered about twenty of them doing their damnedest to get into what actually was an old ruin. The only thing between them and their objective was a small cluster of elves – two mages and a couple of badly wounded swordsmen."

The Herald's eyes lit up. "That _is_ something unusual!"

Aldric took another steady pull from the whiskey, then continued, "Upon seeing the struggle we gave aid to the elves. Though there were only the handful of us, we managed to stave off the intruders and they ran. After it was over, the elves thanked us and one of them – a very beautiful woman, took me aside. It was the strangest thing – somehow I felt like I knew her from somewhere. But I'd never seen her before in my life." A residue of sadness crept into the Bann's face. "She looked deep into my eyes and called me her protector. She took me into the ruin and entrusted me with a secret. I saw what the Tevinters were after. Row upon row of elves slept on delicate beds with fine samite sheets. For all the world they looked like they were simply getting a decent night's sleep – but Fara, that was the woman's name – explained that they were special. They were of the ancient elvhen people and they were set apart in the service of their god. I asked her why she would share this and she told me that she'd looked into my heart and knew I would keep faith with them. She asked that we help her chase down the Tevinters to see how much they knew and stop them before word got out to anyone else. I agreed."

Barely able to sit as she listened, Sian shifted, her skin tingling with apprehension, and quirked an eyebrow. "Is this where my sword comes from?"

"We'll get to that – let me finish." Rubbing his forehead, Aldric appeared to be trying to simplify the tale. "Fara and her brother, Valen, both mages, joined our little group. For weeks we chased the Tevinters and finally caught up with them at the border. The odds were against us, but in the end we prevailed until all but one of the rascals were dead. Fara and Valen questioned him, and with his own dying breaths he told us that the group was a secret society bent on resurrecting their own past and gaining mastery over the fade. They wanted to rule as the Magisters of old Tevinter. They wanted the power of the ancients for some ritual that would make this possible."

Drawn into the story, Sian mirrored him, then noted dryly, "This sounds terribly familiar."

"I suspect it does. This society may have been the forerunners to the Venatori now plaguing you."

"That is something to consider looking into."

"Yes. It is."

"That still doesn't explain my sword." Sian felt a sense of dread. Unable to tolerate sitting any longer she paced to the window.

"Patience. I'm getting to that." Aldric's gaze followed her, but he remained in his chair, his voice low, heavy with memory. "You know that my first wife died?"

"Yes. My mother."

Sian had never seen her father nervous, but she heard it in his voice as he admitted, "More accurately she was Devin, Belwyn and Brigid's mother."

For a moment, Sian stood there silently contemplating his words. Her guts jumped as she began to understand the inference. Swiftly she turned to him. "Wait – what are you saying, Father?"

Aldric rose and moved to the casement facing his daughter, his eyes full of unshed tears, his voice haunted he spoke. "During the weeks we hunted, I fell in love with Fara and she with me. You are the legacy of our love. Her legacy. Your mother was Fara."

Chest and throat tight, Sian felt as if her heart would burst even as the truth of her life – her very existence as she'd known it, changed, "So what Solas believes is true! My mother was an elf! And not just any elf - but an ancient elf?"

He lifted a hand as if to comfort her, but seemed to realize the depth of her shock and dropped it, watching her closely instead. "She was. Your veins flow with the blood of the Trevelyans and the blood of the elvhen."

As the truth began to permeate her mind, Sian reoriented herself and questioned her Father, her tone sharp. "You keep saying – was. What happened to her? Solas told me that the ancient elves were immortal. Where is she?"

Aldric began to respond and she immediately struggled with remorse and anger as she watched him pale, saw the old wounds in his eyes. His voice was choked as he continued. "She died, Sian. The ancient elves are immortal. But, sickness or wounds can kill them like anyone else. A fever took her when you were only a year old. For a time, your Uncle Valen took care of you, but the old elvhen god called your mother's people and Valen had to leave. I knew nothing of your mother's pregnancy – she never told me of it. I had asked her to marry me. She told me that she loved me more than I would ever know – but, she could not turn her back on her people. So, I returned to Ostwick broken-hearted - alone. I never saw her again. Before I left, Valen spelled me so that I couldn't even find the ruin again so long as the kin slumbered. Valen came to visit several times over the years, then suddenly stopped for a while. The last time I saw him was when he brought you. After your Uncle and his kin left, I was again able to recall the location and mapped it. Should you ever want to visit, look in the elven language book over there on the shelf – the map is on the inside cover of it."

Ser Karl knew, but who else? Sian suddenly felt foolish. "Does Mother know about this? Did Brigid… do Belwyn or Devin?"

"Marissa knows. She is the reason I survived my despair. If not for her – well, I don't know what I would have done. It would have been a very different life for you children." He locked eyes with her and she could see the gratitude and love he felt for his wife and she saw his contrition and love for her in them as he answered. "As for your brother and sisters - I never saw a need for it. They all adore you, Sian. And you all share the Trevelyan name and blood."

Though Sian didn't want to be angry – she felt it. Controlling her voice, she struggled to remain stoic. She crossed her arms and her normally animated affect was flat as she questioned him. "And my sword? What of it?"

"That sword did belong to your grandfather… just – not my father, but your true mother's father. He was quite the swordsman I understand. Valen brought it along when he brought you. That and the protection rune Cassandra now wears."

"But I don't even look like an elf! How can this be?" The questions rolled from her tongue like broken glass.

Aldric looked on, his eyes troubled and filled with sorrow as she relentlessly pursued the facts. "Your uncle explained that it is always that way with half-elven children. I don't understand it any more than you do. It is simply the way of things. But you do bear a resemblance to Fara. You have the same cast to your features, her dark hair and much of her character. Your mother was wise and kind. I once saw her charm a hart that had been caught in a wicker trap. Walked right up to it, gentled it – much the way you've always been able to tame young horses – and released its foot. All without a word. But she was lethal too. She cut down her foes efficiently and completely - without a single hesitation."

"And she was a mage?"

"Yes. I thought perhaps you might be one – but Valen told me that you had other gifts. He was confident that one day you'd come into them. It appears that he was right."

Overcome with an urgent need to more fully understand, she pressed, "So – where is my uncle? Did he say where they were going or is that too much to hope for?"

His chin to his chest, Aldric's long fingers splayed in apology. "I'm sorry, Sian. He would not say. He only told me that his people had been called and that he had to go. I asked if I would ever see him again and he told me – no, except perhaps in dreams."

Sian shifted to the fireplace and rested her hands on the mantle, gazing into the fire. She felt as if she'd been twisted into a knot. Valiantly, she fought to center herself to still the cauldron of emotions bubbling inside. Closing her eyes, she focused to make sense of what she'd heard.

Her tone was level as she opened her eyes again, staring at the flames in the hearth. "This is so much to take in. It explains how I'm elvhen, but it doesn't begin to explain the powers – or how I survived the breach when no one else did." She'd come to find out the truth. A truth she was going to have to accept. She had no reason to doubt – she knew instinctively that her Father was being honest. "I guess I've always known that I was different – I always felt different. At least now I can begin to understand why. It changes things and yet in some ways, changes nothing at all." She whispered as the new reality registered on her face, hurt replacing anger. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Honestly – because it hurt." Aldric moved to her side, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes, so like her own, gentle. I have always loved you and I never wanted anything to make life hard for you. As accepting as our people are of our elven citizens, I could never be sure that others wouldn't hold it against you. At times, I could see your mother in you and it comforted me. I truly love Marissa. But, what I had with your mother, with Fara, was very special – I don't even have words to describe the love I knew with her." Despite her confusion, Sian felt for him and she finally looked at him as he finished speaking, "In the end, I couldn't stay with your mother. As much as I loved her, I had your brothers and sisters to think about. They were still little ones. They needed me."

"Can you tell me anything about the gifts my uncle spoke of?" Sian's emotions began to uncoil. She felt a sudden weariness and an ache to know her true mother, and her mother's people, take hold of her heart.

"The only thing he said was that your place wasn't among your kin, but that you'd be drawn to them someday." The Bann sounded wistful as he recalled the mage's words.

Regardless of the personal impact, the Herald needed to know how this revelation influenced the bigger picture. "What does that even mean? What should I do? This is a start – but I can't control these powers and I need to know… especially if they'll help me stop Corypheus. It seems useless to have them if no one can tell me about them."

Aldric scratched his head, his face etched with grief and remembrance. "I don't know. But, I knew your Uncle Valen and he was… perhaps still is, a wise man. He wouldn't have spoken if he didn't believe it was true. I wish I could tell you how or where to look – but I don't have the answer." His voice was laced with conviction and sincerity, and his brows were drawn with chagrin as he assured her, "What I do believe is that he was right – you have a great destiny, a purpose… and it will unfold exactly as it was meant. Maybe it's bringing justice to this Elder One – but… it may be more than that. I'm so sorry Sian. Perhaps I was wrong to keep this from you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

For a time, she considered the hearth in silence digesting the implications of the tale. She felt her anger completely drain as she looked to him, returning his tender, tearful gaze. He was still her father and nothing he'd told her changed the facts of her childhood or her memories of home. He had protected her, loved her and raised her to be noble at heart – not just in name. "I do forgive you. I'm just – frustrated." She could feel how difficult this had been for him. If she were to be honest with herself she had instinctively known, or perhaps distantly remembered, at least some of the truth. She sighed, resigning herself to a new understanding. "You _are_ a good man, Father."

Affectionately, his face filled with relief, he gripped her bicep. "Ah dragonling, I'm glad you still think so. I've made many mistakes in my life and I was afraid that somehow, if I told you this, you would not believe it to be true. But you have proven me wrong on that count. I should have shown more faith in you."

Precipitously drained from the inner turmoil, Sian dropped back to the stool, dry-washing her face and feeling weighted with the responsibility of her title. "I can understand. I've seen so many things that are difficult to credit. I've made so many decisions and have so many more that will rear their ugly heads. I constantly wonder when I will be proven wrong. So many lives to protect, so many who trust me."

The Bann resumed his own chair, sagging into it wearily, but his eyes brightened as he assured her, "I am very, very proud of the person you have become, and I know your mother would be too. Never doubt yourself. I believe the Maker set you on this path for a reason. You would be utterly wasted as a guardsman for the rest of your life. And it seems some good has come of this for you. You seem to have stolen the Seeker's heart."

"How do you know I've actually stolen her heart?" Sian asked with a raised eyebrow, blushing as she was momentarily washed with thoughts of Cassandra's light and warmth.

"I'm not blind, daughter mine. She took your hand easily enough, she's wearing your rune. And if that weren't proof - it's all written in her face. She watches you like a hawk – doesn't miss a move you make. No one looks at someone the way she looks at you who isn't in love. And… I noticed that you were looking back - in the same way. I'm an old man. I know these things," he noted impishly, but as he looked up at her, his eyes became suddenly serious. "I have prayed that you would find someone worthy, someone who truly loves you and will stand with you. I'm glad you found each other in these dark times."

Sian ran her hand through her hair and leveled her gaze at him. "Cassandra took my part even before she knew I was innocent. At every turn, she's encouraged me, fought by my side – been my protector and my best friend. By rights – she should have been the Inquisitor – but she insisted that I was the one and entrusted me with the task. I do love her, Father. Very deeply." She blew out a deep breath, "but – she's lost so much in her life. Her parents were executed in front of her when she was only a child, she lost her brother to blood mages in her youth, and now, in the turmoil, even the Seekers of Truth have been ravaged. Though it's true she needs the time we spoke of at breakfast, I brought her here hoping that she might find some solace, that somehow I might share what I've been fortunate enough to have with her."

Aldric rested a big hand on her knee. "Be at peace, Sian. She is most welcome among us. I know of her reputation and I approve. She has a place in our family – if she wants one." He squinted meaningfully at her, "I suspect, however, that the two of you will find your own way – make a home with each other. Your life is out there. Go seize it. Be who you were meant to be. That's as it should be. But – you always, _always_ , have a place here. Remember that. And do me a favor – when you see that ancient Magister, give him a kick in the seat of his pants for me, will you?"

In an odd way, Sian began to feel relieved. She still didn't have all of the answers, but it was a beginning and she was grateful to still have her family. She managed to genuinely smile as she answered with the start of nascent, more authentic confidence. "Absolutely."

XXXXX

 _A/N - Happy N7 Day to all of my fellow Mass Effect fans! Thanks so very much for continuing to read Mere Mortals. To all who follow and favorite - my heartfelt thanks, to those who review - bless you, it's wonderful to hear your thoughts. Special recognition and thanks to Wyles77 for the inspiration of friendship and camaraderie - you are awesome! And also, a shout out to Pureheart and Riptide Monzarc for all of the encouragement - special thanks to you both!_


	21. Chapter 20 - Future Tense

Chapter 20 – Future Tense

It was well past mid-day as Sian and Aldric finished their discussion. Certain Cassandra needed more time to read the Lord Seeker's book, Sian thought about making a foray into town to look for a keepsake for her. However, as she thought on it more, she realized she hadn't a clue as to what she'd look for, so instead she went in search of a more convenient place to meditate on her father's revelations. For a time she wandered the house, revisiting the memories within it, but eventually her feet led her to a favorite haunt from her past.

Adjoining the kitchen, overlooking the back garden, the stone porch presided over the back yard of the manor. Drizzle chimed on the copper roof as she stoked the fire in a central brazier then seated herself at a table constructed of twigs and branches. In the past, whenever she needed to think, she'd occupied this very spot and stared at the patches of herbs and flowers watching the bees work. It was comforting and quiet, filled with remembrances of good times in her family home.

"I thought I might find you out here." Lady Trevelyan appeared with a tea tray. "May I join you, darling?"

"I'd like that," Sian smiled gratefully as she stood and took the loaded tray, then carefully settled it on the table while Marissa gathered her skirts and seated herself.

"Aldric told me of your talk." Marissa busied herself pouring tea, deftly preparing each cup with honey as she spoke. It had always been her way to provide little touches of comfort whether the crisis was a skinned knee or a call to fight the blight. "Instead of asking the obvious question, I'll just say you seem to be taking it better than I thought you might."

Pushing her forelock back, her lips firm, Sian answered, "I'm not angry but it's, well, shocking. It's going to take some time to get used to it – and, it's left me with as many questions as I came to answer. But, I _am_ glad to have the truth of it. I just wish he'd told me sooner."

"He struggled with it for years, Sian. How…when… to finally say something." The lady's tone was gentle as she spoke.

"Well, I'm glad he was honest with me. I guess I just wonder how Devin and Belwyn will feel about it. And – honestly. I don't know how you've managed." The Herald searched her step-mother's face, marveling at the fact that Lady Trevelyan had taken on a grieving Bann and his children, touched by the depth of her character and empathy.

Marissa bore a winsome smile as she answered, "Managed. I've never felt as if I had to manage anything. We all love each other – nothing will ever change that. None of you knew your birth mothers. You only knew each other. Under it all, you _are_ all still Trevelyans. When they find out, I seriously doubt it will change a thing. As for me, I raised you and got as good as I ever gave. Actually, I've felt rather sorry that your mother didn't share that privilege. You were always a sweet, bright child, and you've become a leader, a warrior, a decent, kind person." She sighed and set her tea on the table. "It speaks volumes that you would turn what many would deem a curse into a blessing and accept the responsibility for leading the Inquisition. We are all very proud of you, my darling."

"I could never have done so without your influence, without the lessons I've learned. If I'm a leader – it's because you and Father raised me the right way.""

"Ha. Don't let your Aunt Lucille hear you say that. She always thought I should have spent more time teaching you to be a Lady than allowing you to ride, play war with the boys and learn to fight." Marissa's eyes sparkled as she laughed, "She nearly had apoplexy when she heard you'd been to the Winter Palace."

Sian snorted, "I nearly had apoplexy when she started trying to call in favors from the Inquisition. Good thing she's no match for Lady Montilyet, our ambassador. And – you may have let me go my own way – but you taught me the things that matter." She couldn't help but chuckle with a smug grin, "Besides - I did very well at Halamshiral, Mother. Ask Cassandra."

"I have no doubt of that." Lady Trevelyan's attractive face and dainty nose creased with delight as she teased, "You may have kept the Empress seated on her throne, but I think your crowning achievement has been winning Cassandra's affections. Your Seeker is lovely and charming, but quite reserved and clearly focused on her duties."

"She was that way with me in the beginning. As we got to know each other better, she opened up. Eventually, to my eternal delight, she fell in love with me." Sian felt her ears burn as she spoke. "She's seems aloof and she can stand toe to toe with a demon without breaking a sweat, but inside she's warm – very tenderhearted. I've never known anyone like her. I've been thinking about trying to find something to give her as a memento of Ostwick but I haven't been able to think of what that might be. Little things mean more to her than big things. It needs to be something special… you know, romantic."

"Hmm. " Peering over the brim of her cup, Marissa appeared thoughtful, then suddenly smiled with delight. "I have an idea. Cassandra came down for a bit earlier and we had a moment or two to visit. Give me a moment, I have just the thing… and another item I think you might cherish."

Sian sipped her beverage as Lady Trevelyan retreated to the house then quickly reappeared with a gleaming silk bag and an armful of colorful folded cloth. Settling in, Marissa unpacked two large, stoppered bottles and a tiny cotton bag with drawstrings.

"Cassandra admired the heather bouquet on the table. I think some scented soap and oil would be perfect as a gift for her. Oh – and some seeds. She spoke of the Chantry garden at Skyhold. I thought it might be nice for you to have a bit of home to take with you."

"Thank you, Mother. These are perfect. Just the thing." Sian beamed as she repacked the treasures. Her eyes were puzzled as she considered the shimmering folded cloth. "But - what is this?"

"This," Marissa unfolded the fabric and carefully placed it open over the back of a chair, "is the blanket you were swaddled in when your Uncle Valen brought you to your father."

The piece took Sian's breath. "It's… more a work of art than a baby blanket!" Her hand shook a she caressed the samite squares pieced together to form the ornate, distinctively elvhen quilt. One row of the soft patches were midnight blue painstakingly embroidered with asymmetrical, tangled, golden trails of tiny stars. Alternating between them were rows of golden swatches stitched with sapphire thread that formed little squares in odd lines. In the very center was a single emerald swatch with a bronze hand worked into it. The entire blanket was surrounded by a silky amethyst border. "It's astonishing. I can't believe you kept it all these years."

Gently, Marissa put her arm around her beloved child. "Of course we kept it. I've often wondered if your mother might have done the work. We always planned to give it to you one day. The time just seems right and it might be nice for you to have something to take back to your new home."

"Thank you. This means a great deal to me, Mother." Affectionately, Sian pecked Marissa on the cheek. "You think of everything, don't you?"

Lady Trevelyan smiled, her countenance bright from the praise, her eyes filled with love. "I do try."

XXXXX

As dusk fell over Ostwick and dinner time approached, Cassandra finished the Seeker's book. If she'd been anywhere but the Trevelyan home, she would have considered lobbing it through the nearest window. Instead, she collapsed into a padded chair at the work table and contented herself with slamming the thing onto the surface in front of her.

Sian padded through the door quietly and leaned on the frame apparently considering her in silence.

"This tome has passed from Lord Seeker to Lord Seeker since the time of the old Inquisition." Cassandra took a deep breath, her emotions leaning more toward heartbreak than anger, then sighed, "And now it falls to me."

Concern etched on her face, the Herald took a seat across from her. "Weighty reading indeed. You look exhausted."

With a weak smile, Cassandra retorted, "On the contrary, it's a delight. I'm riveted."

Snorting lightly, Sian took her hand and caressed her knuckles, her tone light, her face solemn, "So, what did this riveting book reveal?"

"More than I ever thought or truly wished to know." Cassandra bit her lip, trying to find the words to describe the outrageous truth. Finally, her voice pitched low, she began, "Do you know what the rite of tranquility is? The last resort used on mages in the circle, leaving them unable to cast and depriving them of dreams and all emotion. It should only be used on those who cannot control their abilities… but that has not always been the case."

"Belwyn was very worried about it happening if she failed her harrowing. She told me in confidence that she rather die than be made Tranquil. Personally, I've never understood why more effort wasn't put in to helping those who couldn't control their abilities." Sian shivered. "What about it?"

Chagrined at the thought and fearful of Sian's response, Cassandra quietly admitted, "I always thought it a necessary evil. What finally began the mage rebellion was a discovery that the rite of tranquility could be reversed. Lord Seeker Lambert covered it up – harshly. There were deaths. It was dangerous knowledge. The shock of its discovery in addition to what happened at Kirkwall, then the riot at the White Spire… But – it appears we have always known how to reverse the rite. From the beginning."

She started to rise, suddenly chilled, but Sian gently tugged at her hand, her voice insistent. "Cassandra, you aren't responsible for that. You didn't know. And I may be guessing here, but I suspect your fellow Seekers didn't know either."

"No. They did not. But that does not excuse the Order entirely." The Seeker resumed her seat and hung her head, her voice laced with anxiety as she finished her confession. "I left the Lord Seeker to fight his war but many of my comrades followed his orders despite the other abuses. One more crime to add to the pile." She looked up, her eyes imploring even as the bitter truth dropped from her tongue. "Yes. We created the rite of tranquility. I told you of my Vigil – the months I spent emptying myself of all emotion? I was made tranquil and didn't even know. Then the Vigil summoned a spirit of faith to touch my mind. That broke tranquility - and gave me my abilities." Hearing the betrayal out loud renewed her shock. The experience she'd once considered the most inspirational, sacred moment in her life was sullied with the knowledge she'd found.

Cassandra's voice was husky, broken with emotion as she continued, "The Seekers did not share that secret. Not with me. Not with the Chantry. Not even with…" She worked her lip still struggling with deep disappointment. "There's more. Lucius was not wrong about the order. I thought to rebuild the Seekers once victory was ours. Now I'm not certain it deserves to be rebuilt."

No longer able to sit, Cassandra stood and paced to the window as lightning flashed in the darkness outside. Discouraged, her words felt like acid. "At some point, power becomes its own master. We cast aside ideals in favor of expedience and tell ourselves it was all necessary. _For the people_. We harbored secrets and let them fester. We acted to survive, but not to serve." She crossed her arms warding against the uncertainty of her own decisions. "Will that happen to us? Will we repeat history?"

"Not if we keep faith with the Maker - not if our duty is from the heart. You didn't start the Inquisition for power. I haven't stayed because I want power. We have work to do. We have a chance to set things right. To be sure the people of Thedas are safe. As long as we remember that we are in business to serve others and we keep ourselves accountable for our actions – we will not repeat history." Sian stepped behind her and wrapped her in her arms, her chin resting on her shoulder. "If you did rebuild the Seekers, how would you do it?"

Cassandra tingled with the proximity and felt herself relax into Sian's embrace. "I can't be the only one remaining. We were always spread to the winds, and some may still be out there. I would find them, one by one. We would all read this book – no more secrets. Then together we would establish a new charter. The Maker's work in truth."

"You know I will support you if you try. If anyone can do this – it would be you." Sian whispered next to her ear, "I believe in you, Cassandra. I'm just sorry it all came to this. I think we should take this up as research if you decide to try. I remember you telling me that you wondered if the Vigil could prevent mages from becoming abominations."

"You are right. It may be a chance for new beginning and it might be possible." As she thought on the Herald's advice, she felt hope renew though she knew it would take time to let go of the pain of betrayal and her own feeling of culpability. Warmed by Sian's presence and understanding, she realized she hadn't asked about her discussion with the Bann. Pivoting, she laced her arms around the Herald's shoulders. "What of you? Did you learn anything from your father?"

Leaning her forehead into the Seeker's, Sian sighed. "I did. Would it bother you if you were sleeping with an elf? Well - a half-elf?"

"Not at all." Cassandra had no real issues with elves, except in the way of religion, and even then she generally treated it as their business. "How is this so?"

Cassandra listened patiently as Sian explained, gently questioning and drawing the facts from the situation. As the Herald finished, the Seeker idly caressed her cheek and ran her finger over the scar through her brow, "It seems many questions remain that require answers, but evidently you are taking this well."

The Herald's brow furrowed. "For the most part, I am. Father did the best he could and, really, I have little to complain of when I consider the misfortunes of others. The thing that most concerns me at this point is what it means – what connection it has to my use of power. It would appear that Dorian and Solas are right about me. So far my abilities have stood us in good stead, but what if I can't control them? Doesn't that worry you?"

"I believe you were sent by the Maker." Cassandra reaffirmed hoping to soothe lines of anxiety in Sian's face. Gently, but firmly, she insisted, "I was trained to read power. I assure you that if I'd ever had reason for concern I would have been forthright. I would point out that you have never misdirected your efforts but you have difficulty summoning your magic at the correct moment."

"You're right." Brows raised, Sian seemed to appreciate the epiphany. "It isn't control – it's will and access. It might help if I knew how I even got the gift." Straightening, she leaned on the window ledge, one hand still delicately perched on the Seeker's hip. "I need to find my Uncle Valen. He seems to be the key to understanding this. If I could just talk with him, he could tell me more of my mother. Perhaps Solas or Leliana will have some idea of how to search."

"It is only a thought – but you might ask Fiona as well. It is possible that she may know something about this." The Seeker remembered hearing that the Grand Enchanter had seen many things in her life as a Grey Warden and a Circle Mage as well as the fact that she shared heritage with Sian.

"And that is why I adore you, Cassandra," Sian kissed her, leaving a trace of honey on her lips. "You have a beautiful mind."

Despite the uncomfortable truths they had both uncovered, the Seeker relished the sweetness and felt her body deliciously quiver in response. Her bronze eyes gleamed as she raised her eyebrows and casually teased, "Is that the only thing that you adore – my mind?"

"Of course not." Sian's eyes were tender but her tone was impish as she retorted quickly, "I'll make you a deal. After dinner, we'll come back up here and put that tub you had your eye on earlier to good use and I'll make it a point to chant a litany of adoration especially for you." Mischievously, she breathed in the Seeker's ear, "With mine your body shall I worship."

Cassandra was still amazed at the sparks a single, simple kiss and a hint of rather blasphemous, flirty suggestion could ignite between them. An eyebrow raised, the Seeker sighed dramatically. "That sounds rather heretical, my love."

"I'm half-elvhen and unorthodox to boot," Sian playfully scoffed, "there are many in the Chantry who would consider me a raving heretic, ma vhenan."

"I am not one of them." The Seeker lovingly retorted as she stole another kiss.

XXXXX

Morning light found _The Sandpiper_ awaiting Sian and Cassandra in her berth, the tall main mast rhythmically bobbing in a more moderate sea than when they'd arrived. Aldric walked with Sian, his eyes blood-shot and his gait slow as they made their way to the vessel.

"You look like you haven't slept, Father," The Herald noted. Normally, he matched her stride for stride, his mind restless and his body vigorous. Even in leave-taking he'd always kept his sense of humor.

"Sleep came. But… I dreamed. It felt real, like I'd gone somewhere." The Bann yawned as he spoke, the smile lines customarily in the corner of his lids absent.

"Some dream. You look like you've spent the night herding cats. Where did you go? Do you know?"

"I do. As your Uncle Valen foretold, he visited me in my dreams." Aldric halted and lay his great hands on Sian's shoulders. "It was the strangest thing. He was wrapped in a mist, but I could see him. He gave me a message – for you."

"For me? What did he say?" Sian hoped it would make sense. It seemed everything to do with the elvhen was couched in mystery. It would be too easy if any revelation to do with her gifts or her heritage were anything less than an enigma.

"I know what you're thinking, dragonling. Unfortunately, your mother's people like their riddles," The Bann managed a wry grin. "But, it's all I have to offer if you wish to find your Uncle." Rubbing the bridge of his nose, his head cocked in thought, he fished in his coat pocket and drew out a small scrip of paper and read it. "Let me see… I want to repeat this just the way he told me to write it. Ah – yes. He said to tell you: To master yourself, make the starlit journey to the Place of Pride. From the abundance of your heart – surrender to the Light. Make pilgrimage to the Greens and walk the holy paths to knowledge."

"Ach," Sian slapped her forehead and spat, "nothing is ever easy with mother's side of the house, is it? I don't suppose any of this makes sense to you, does it?" Dolefully, she ventured, "May I have that paper?"

"Of course." Aldric placed it in her outstretched palm. "No, Sian, it makes no sense to me. I've thought of nothing else since the dream and I have no ideas – nothing to offer you that might help set you on your path. But – all of this seems to be unfolding on its own. There may be forces in motion of which we have no ken. Thus, I would counsel patience. More may be revealed in time."

"That explains why you didn't sleep – you were too busy thinking." With a sigh, Sian resigned herself to the wisdom of his logic. "I suppose you're right. It's just maddening – and hard to be patient while I know Corypheus is out there." She took a last lingering look around the city as they picked up their pace toward the dock. "I know it's been a short visit. But, I'm glad to have been able to see you and Mother. Glad you were able to meet Cassandra."

As they neared the ship, she felt her heart clench. She didn't know what the future held, but Solas had warned her that her life might be the price for closing the Breach and ending Corypheus. She gazed at her sire, memorizing every line, every craggy feature, silently praying that it wouldn't be for the last time.

Ahead of them, Marissa stood with Cassandra next to the gangplank, her arm casually linked with the Seeker's. Sian felt a lump in her throat and warmth in her chest as she watched them converse, surprised to see that the Seeker was wearing a gentle smile as they embraced and bid each other farewell.

Her eyes returned to the Bann and she sought his arms. "Take care of each other, Father. I love you."

Wrapping her tight, Aldric murmured into her neck, "I love you too, Sian. Be well, trust the Maker – but above all take joy when and where you can. Oh – and stay in touch. We like to stay abreast of your adventures."

As he released her, she felt a shift. The threads that bound her to her family home had released. She would always love her family. She would no doubt visit, but as the Bann stepped back she felt destiny assert itself and realized her life was meant to be lived in the greater world. Her eyes fogged as she and the Seeker boarded the ship. They stood at the rail hand in hand, watching until the figures of her parents faded from view in the distance.

Cassandra's eyes were tender as she asked, "Are you sorry to leave Ostwick?"

"Not exactly. I mean – there will be times when I miss it." Melancholy reverberated in her voice. "But, my time there is over. I'm no longer a Guard Captain in Ostwick, my purpose is the Inquisition. My duty is to end the Elder One and do what I can to bring order to Thedas. And, my life, Cassandra Pentaghast… my life – I want to spend with you."

The Seeker grasped her arming coat and pulled her close, stroking her hair as tears of freedom rolled down her cheeks and the sloop doggedly lurched into the countercurrents that would carry them into the future.

XXXXX

 _[A/N – I've had to work paragraph by paragraph to get this short chapter written. Preparations for finals has unfortunately required my attention. So – the story goes on, albeit at a slower pace. Thank you to all who are still reading along. As my workload decreases, I will post a bit more. To all who have favorited and followed – thank you. To those who review, I offer special gratitude for your time and feedback. I love hearing from you.]_


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